Somewhere Only We Know
by lo scrittore
Summary: Edward Masen is a typical rich kid. He's got the money, the looks, the girls and the intelligence. He thinks he's got everything figured out until he meets one not-so-typical girl, who teaches him a little about himself and a thing called love.
1. First Sight

**SOMEWHERE ONLY WE KNOW**

**FULL SUMMARY:**

Edward Masen thinks he's got everything figured out. He's got the money, the looks, the girls and the intelligence. He's a typical rich kid—he goes to the parties, he drinks the drinks and does the drugs. He's just like everyone else. Until he meets a girl with a mysterious voice.

Enter Bella Swan, Edward's polar opposite. A poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks, she struggles not to fit in and is willing to go to any lengths to be different. She's an enigma to everyone, including Edward, and while he's busy trying to figure her out, she teaches him a little about himself—and love.

**DISCLAIMER:**

Twilight and all its characters belong to the lovely Stephenie Meyer. I just like to play with them.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE :**

Ayo! Thank you for choosing to read this story. A quick note before we start:

I've been really obsessed with movies this summer... more so than usual. So I want to give you all a point of reference for this Edward and Bella, seeing as a lot of what I've been watching recently has filtered into my imagination for this story.

Edward: a combination of Ryan Phillipe in Cruel Intentions (not as much a douche, but with the same impatience and disdain for those who get in the way of what he wants), Hayden Christensen in Factory Girl (for his down-to-Earth, laid back disposition), our fave Rob Pattinson in Remember Me (for making having Daddy issues sexy) and Shiloh Fernandez, who plays Peter in Red Riding Hood (for all the dark brooding and aggressiveness). They all seem kinda random, but if you mesh them together—and add a little extra—you'll get our Edward.

Bella: even more wacky than Edward's combo.. we have Sienna Miller in Factory Girl (for her 1960's sex-appeal, fashion sense and strangely chic smoking habit), Mila Kunis in Black Swan (not for the lesbianism, but for her confidence and carefree and daring attitude), Vanessa Ann Hudgens in Beastly (I am not a huge fan of hers, but I like how mature and insightful her character is and how she sees through all the bullshit) and she's got the spirit of Florence Welch of Florence + the Machine (haven't actually met her, though I'd love to. Her music speaks for her).

Alright, so there's enough of that. Hopefully you get a good idea.

**Musical inspiration for this chapter:**  
><em>Forever<em> – Drake, Kanye West, Lil Wayne and Eminem  
><em>Stadium Love<em> – Metric  
><em>On Fire<em> – Eminem  
><em>Fade Away<em> – Breaking Benjamin

Alright, that's a long one. Now that I've set the stage a little (a lot)... here we go!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One: First Sight<strong>

_What do you think about love at first sight? You think you can love somebody just by looking at them?_  
><em>-Blue Valentine<em>

Goddamn horny nerds. Who the fuck would have thought that I would find myself in a room with a bunch of horny nerds on a Friday night?

Not me, that's for damn sure.

I mean, I go to Harvard. You would think that I would be surrounded by pretentious prick-heads who got one question wrong on their SATs; ones that thought they were all going to find the cure for AIDS or defend the next OJ Simpson; ones who spent all their time studying so that they could graduate top of their class and inherit Daddy's company; ones that messed with nuclear chain reactors in their spare time and built hydrogen bombs over the summer.

Boy, if you thought that, you are fucking wrong.

My fellow Crimson Fuckheads are some of the biggest party-goers in the world. Most of them have the means to throw the biggest parties Cambridge has ever seen, so why the fuck not? It's the Friday before we all leave to go home for Christmas, we've all taken our midterms and packed up our shit. Basically, we're all ready to blow the fuck out of here. So why not throw a party, right?

Right?

Tonight I found myself at the penthouse apartment of Benjamin Cheney, heir to the Cheney Corporation millions and Playboy extraordinaire—and by Playboy extraordinaire, I mean that he's thrown parties in which actual, real-live, asses-hanging-out-and-titties-bouncing-in-your-face Playboy Bunnies were in attendance.

Oh yeah, I definitely went to that one.

Booze is flowing from anything that has a nozzle, music is pumping through his several-thousand dollar sound system, girls are dancing and taking their tops off and making out with each other. Most people are holding the standard plastic red cup, but a select few—mainly the girls that thought they were too sophisticated and classy to drink what everyone else was drinking, namely Lauren Mallory—came with their own bottles of vintage something-or-other.

As I pushed through the crowd, I saw a group of kids from my Organic Chemistry lab clustering around a low coffee table. As the room swayed, they broke apart a little and revealed what was on it.

Six long, straight rows of cocaine.

My mouth watered.

I watched as my lab partner Eric Yorkie leaned over the table and snorted about a quarter of a line through what I presumed to be a tightly rolled hundred dollar bill before leaning over and shoving his tongue down Jessica Stanley's throat.

Getting the idea about how much Harvard people party yet?

I ignored the temptation to join them. In about two hours I would have to catch a plane home to my lovely parents back in bum-fuck-nowhere Washington and my mother hated it when I showed up to dinner high. Not to mention the fact that my father would not appreciate my zoning out while he grilled me about my activities this past semester.

All the more reason to head back over to that table...

I continued to push my way through the hordes of people. I made my way past the crowd around the beer kegs and instead headed to the liquor cabinet that I knew was fully stocked in Ben's study—yes, arrogant assholes have studies. I doubted he would notice that anything was missing, but I knew that if he did he wouldn't really care. Odds were, he would be wasted for days and by time he came off his buzz he would hardly know what the fuck he had in the first place.

As if to prove my point, when I pushed the door open, I found him sitting in his plush leather desk chair, head thrown back shamelessly, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut. His hands were somewhere down near his groin, and I could see the top of a head of brown hair. Upon my entry, he raised his head and opened his eyes, and when he saw who I was, he grinned wickedly.

"Edward! My man!" he slurred.

"How's it going, Ben?" I asked, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling safe and spinning the dial effortlessly. A heavy beat thrummed through the open door from the party outside and I found myself nodding my head as I spun in the code. Grinning in satisfaction at the loud click, I opened the safe and scanned its contents.

"Ben," I called over my shoulder.

"What up?"

"Any preference as to something you want to keep?"

"Bro," he drawled. "I don't even know what's in there. What's mine is yours, man. Take whatever."

Case and fucking point.

I pulled a flask from the inside pocket of my black Armani trench coat—yes, I can be one of those pretentious prick-heads too—and popped open the top. Unscrewing the cap of a decent looking cognac from the sixties, I poured remaining liquid in the bottle into the flask and then pocketed it. Tossing the bottle in the trash on my way out, I turned back to Ben one last time.

"That Angela?" I asked, nodding at the girl that was giving him head under the desk.

"Sure is," he replied. "Angie, say hi to Edward."

A fairly pretty head popped up, smiling at me. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and then proceeded to wave at me with the same hand. "Hey Edward," she said brightly. Ben's hand came forward and began stroking her hair.

"What's up, Angela? How were your midterms?"

She shrugged, adjusting her glasses. "They went well. My Shakespeare professor is a bit of a dick, so that one was a little difficult, but other than that I think I managed to pass."

"That's always a good thing," I murmured, fingering the flask inside my pocket.

"What about you?" she asked.

"Baby," Ben murmured, stroking the back of her neck. "Edward doesn't really wanna talk about his exams right now, do you bud?" he asked, looking at me with a pointed look. What he meant was that he didn't want to talk about exams. He wanted Angela to suck his dick. And he wanted me to leave.

"They went fine," I responded with a grin. I gestured to the hallway with my head. "I'm going to head back out. Have fun, you two."

She had already turned around, her head commencing its tell-tale bobbing. Ben's head lolled and I took that as my cue to leave. Chuckling, I turned on my heel and pulled the door open, grinning again as Ben let out a loud moan before I closed the door.

Good for him.

Despite what I had just seen, I had nothing but respect for Angela Webber. She had been in a few of my classes over the last two and a half years, and for all two of those years she had been the very exclusive girlfriend of the boy whose cock her mouth was wrapped around. A boy who had been, despite all of his wild gallivanting and drunken escapades, completely faithful to her.

They were going to get fucking married one day, so if they had no problem acting out in public, then I wasn't going to pass judgment.

I wasn't looking forward to pushing through mass of drunken frat boys and strung out party girls again, so I took a swig from my flask, enjoying the sharp burn that scorched its way down my throat. I sighed, looking around for some alternative route. I looked to the left, toward the doors that led to Ben's bedroom. Some girl was getting fucked against the door, so that way was not an option. I looked to the right, the front door that led to the hallway, but it was packed so tightly that it would have taken me two hours to get through.

The back wall of the room held two sets of French doors that led out to a little veranda. Perfect. Taking a huge breath, I steeled myself. Then, in a ballsy move, I pushed myself right in the middle of the throbbing mass.

Bodies pressed up against me from every direction, sticky and hot. I allowed myself to pause for a moment, gyrating and grinding against whoever's ass was pressed against my dick. The music seemed to thrum through my veins, that's how fucking intense the beat was. It rocked my body and soul in ways that made my teeth clench and sweat form on my brow. Reaching forward, I clenched the girl's hips, pulling her back against me forcefully, almost as if I were going to fuck her through her clothes.

Lights pulsed. My body rocked. Hers pressed. The music pounded.

Breathing in. Breathing out.

So fucking fast.

Almost as soon as the ferocity hit, it was gone and I was moving through the crowd again, being carried out by the tide. I pressed through the crowd, desperate for a smoke. I could never be in these situations for long without feeling the anxiety that wracked my nerves, and now they were being wracked to the point that my hands were trembling. I needed to be away from everything fast and heavy.

The music.

The dancing.

Everything.

I pushed through the French doors on the other side of the room, gasping in the crisp Massachusetts winter air with relief. I leaned against the railing of the balcony, bracing myself on my widespread hands, panting heavily as my head dropped. After I seemed to regain my breath, I reached into my pocket to pull out my flask.

Nothing like a little liquid courage.

It was as I was reaching for it that I happened to glance over and see the glowing butt of a cigarette on the other end of the veranda. A cigarette that was hanging from the mouth of a body. A very small, very dark body. Petite, compact, round...

"It's nice out here, isn't it?" the voice drawled.

The fuck? I was stopped cold by that voice. It was soft but clear, low and seductive. Femininely husky.

"Uh, yeah," I panted. "Yeah, it is."

I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but God, keep talking. Your voice is like a fucking harp.

She hmmed, deep in the back of her throat. That's not the only thing she'll be doing in the back of her throat, I thought to myself. Completely random and I haven't even seen the girl's face, but whatever. A fuck is a fuck is a duck is a fuck.

"But I doubt you came here so you could look at the stars," she murmured, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Well what did you come here for?" I asked, standing up a little straighter. Keep her talking.

She chuckled. "I didn't come willingly," she purred softly. No, but you will be in about five seconds, princess. Just let me stick my hand down your panties. "My roommate dragged me down here. Said I needed to get out of the dorm for a little bit." She scoffed. "Had I known that this was what I was coming to, I would have chained myself to my bed."

Oh my fucking God...

Instead I said nothing, fumbling around in my pockets for my cigarettes. They should have been easy to find; small silver case, my initials engraved on the top. But for some reason, my fingers were not finding purchase on anything but lint and gum wrappers.

Goddammit.

A cigarette materialized in front of me, held in a clasp of dainty pale fingers. Taking it gratefully, I nodded in thanks and stuck it between my lips. I pulled the vintage 1912 cigarette lighter I'd swiped from my father's desk drawer out of my pocket, flipped the lid and lit the cigarette, taking a long, appreciative drag.

This girl knows what she's doing. She's not smoking the cheap stuff.

"So," she said, taking another drag. "What's your story?"

I inhaled, held the smoke in my lungs, letting it burn. I blew it out, slowly. "I don't have one," I replied, pocketing the lighter. "I'm just a typical rich kid doing what typical rich kids do."

She pulled on the cigarette again before speaking. "No," she said after a moment of thought. "I don't think that's true." Exhale. She pointed at me with her cigarette, explaining. "I saw that shirt in a window display at Salvation Army." Another drag. "So you're either not typical, or not rich." She exhaled, slowly, letting the smoke linger. "Which is it?"

I don't know what it is about the way she said it, but something in my chest expanded and I just looked at her—or her silhouette—in awe and shock. I could feel the cigarette burning in my fingertips but for about five seconds, I could not bring myself to move.

Pull yourself together, you pussy.

Tossing it to the ground, I stubbed it out with the toe of my Armani loafers and turned around to head back inside. I needed to get away from her and her fucking glorious voice. Now.

I didn't like how she was making me feel; like the past two and a half years were just a big joke. Parties and classes and parties and drinking and parties and fucking and parties. Like she could see straight through it.

It made me uncomfortable.

I fucking didn't like it.

Her voice stopped me.

"For what it's worth," she called softly. "I think you're plenty rich, Edward Masen. I just don't think you're typical."

Ignoring the strange feeling that blossomed in my belly with her statement, I pulled open the door and headed back into the party. My nerves were abated for the moment, and I needed to get away from this girl. She knew me but I had no fucking clue who she was, which put me even more on edge. Plus, I wanted to go find Emmett before I headed to the airport to go back to Forks. I needed to tell him that if he was staying at the apartment over break, he needed to stay the fuck away from my porn.

And my Twizzlers, because yes, those two are on the same level in my book.

He wasn't hard to spot—nearly two hundred and ninety pounds of pure muscle and grit made him easily visible from nearly a mile away, and the platinum blonde that was permanently attached to his hip didn't make it any more difficult. She wasn't unattractive by any stretch of the imagination, but she certainly wasn't my type. While porn-star-looking girls were fun in bed when they were fulfilling a fantasy, they were not someone I actually wanted to converse with.

Emmett and Rose didn't converse. They fucked.

A lot.

They were perfect for each other.

I approached him quickly, nodding at Rose in greeting. She returned my gesture, rubbing Emmett's back to get his attention. He turned to look at me.

"Edward!" he called loudly.

"Hey," I responded. "I'm not going to stay here much longer, I have a flight to catch in about two hours. I just wanted to make sure we were clear on a few things before I left."

"Sure thing man," he murmured, not looking at me. I assumed he was checking out the ass of some girl walking behind me, and I could only guess that I was correct when Rosalie swatted him on the back of the head. "Ow," he growled at her, winking. I gagged. "What's up?" he asked me.

I got straight to the point. "Stay away from my Twizzlers," I said shortly. "And my porn. And don't have sex on my bed. Or any other flat surface that isn't in your room. You know how much I hate that shit."

Rosalie rolled her eyes. Emmett smirked.

"Dude, you're good with the Twizzlers, I hate those things." Yes, that's why when I came back from Cabo last Spring Break three whole packages were gone. "As for your porn, I won't have time to hack into your computer. I'll be busy breaking into Fort Knox this week."

I laughed at his joke. He was right though, the security on my laptop was tighter than my father's asshole—not a pretty mental picture, but the analogy is pretty fucking accurate. I had made sure to install extra security and hide the videos in at least five different folders after the last time Emmett had hacked in and I found him whacking off on the living room couch.

The living room couch that I sat on.

Unsanitary pig, Emmett is.

"No go on the sex though," he continued. "You've got the comfiest mattress in the whole damn building and there's no way in hell I'm not taking advantage of your two-week absence."

I felt my nostrils flare. "And you would know how comfortable it is because..." I didn't wait for an answer. My blood boiled. "I'm burning that fucking thing when I get back. And all the sheets I own because I can't be sure which ones you fucked on."

He laughed. "You could just give it to me."

"No."

"Aw come on."

"No."

He sighed. "Well, Rosie, I tried."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm going to head out. Get a good fuck in on my bed because it won't be here after I get back. And I'm not kidding, stay the fuck away from my Twizzlers." I grabbed Rose's hand and brought it to my lips. "Rosalie, it was a pleasure." I reached over and shook Emmett's hand.

"I'm not kidding," I warned.

He just laughed.

I turned and pushed my way through crowd again, finally making it to the front door after what seemed like an hour. Turns out it was only fifteen minutes, but that was fifteen minutes I really didn't have. I was running behind schedule, and if I didn't make it to the airport soon, I'd miss my flight.

My father hated tardiness.

Like I fucking care.

Jenks was waiting outside the apartment building in the Towncar, and when I emerged he flashed his lights to alert me of his presence before climbing out, walking around and opening the back door. "Good evening, sir," he said quietly. "Your bags are already in the trunk and if the traffic is right, we should be at the airport in about twenty minutes."

I held up my wrist, checking my Rolex. "Cutting it a little close," I mumbled before stepping into the car. He tensed, as if expecting to be reprimanded. "Not your fault, though," I added, pulling my iPhone from my pocket.

"Yes sir," he replied before shutting the door.

I scrolled through the various menus, trying to settle on a movie to rent for the flight. That was difficult to do considering there was fucking nothing good out at the moment, but I ended up with The Adjustment Bureau and settled for that. Letting it load, I switched the phone off and looked out the window of the car, watching the streetlights whiz by.

I couldn't get my mind off that fucking voice. It was a shame that I hadn't seen her face, because someone with a voice like that had to have the face of an angel. Or Carmen Electra, at the very least. Contemplating all possibilities, I drew a picture of her in my head. She'd have blond hair, because a voice like that only belonged to porn stars, and the only porn stars that were appealing to me were blonds—brunettes just looked old. She probably had blue eyes, though green were acceptable too. Huge tits that I couldn't even fit in my hands. A pussy that was completely bare...

I huffed in irritation, palming my erection lightly before adjusting uncomfortably in my seat. I couldn't get her out of my fucking head, and that bothered me. I didn't know who the hell she was or what she looked like, yet she knew exactly who I was. She'd seen right through me in the two minutes that I was out on the balcony and as much as I wanted to know who she was, that concept scared the shit out of me.

The car glided through the snowy night without a glitch and I arrived at the airport right on time. Jenks helped carry my bags to check-in and took care of the luggage search. When it was loaded and I was ready to head to the terminal, I thanked him for his services, tipping him with a one hundred dollar bill. He seemed surprised by this, but I merely waved him off and wished him a Merry Christmas. I watched him walk away until he was out of my line of vision and then went to board the plane.

As I settled into my seat in first class, my mind went back to the girl with the cigarette. I cursed under my breath. She was going to plague me until I figured out who she was, haunting me until I was able to put a face and a name to the voice. Rubbing my temples roughly, I leaned back in my seat and put my headphones in, hoping that maybe I could drown her out.

Her voice only got louder, and the flight back to Forks was a bumpy one.

Not because of the turbulence.

I took a deep breath when the Jaguar pulled up to my parents' house. The door was opened for me by a driver I didn't recognize and bags materialized next to my feet. I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I mentally prepared myself for the grueling dinner I was about to face. It was eight o'clock here in Washington, and I rubbed my eyes. It was eleven back in Cambridge, and given the fact that I had pulled an all-nighter the night before to prepare for my Calculus exam, I wasn't in the brightest of spirits.

Meaning I was fucking tired.

I grabbed the handle of one of my bags, brushing the driver off, and headed for the massive oak front door. My father was one for the grandiose, and if his house was not a symbol for it then there was nothing in the world that would do better. The door was huge, the windows colossal. The walls towered over me, looming ominously in a way that would have frightened me had I not lived there half my life. The exterior of the house was not inviting; it looked like it belonged to an evil villain in a Disney movie.

Fucking _Beauty and the Beast_ or something.

I rang the doorbell, pinching the bridge of my nose as I waited for my mother's butler-of-the-month to open it. It was cold as hell and the longer I stood on the front stoop, the more cranky I got. Back in Massachusetts I was working on a good buzz, but of course that got interrupted by my parents—even from three fucking thousand miles away. I had to endure a long ass plane ride, including a layover in Chicago, next to a woman and her baby, who vomited all over me. Then another long ass ride back to Forks with a driver I didn't know who was insistent upon playing Otis Redding all the way from Seattle. And now I was standing on my mother's very cold front stoop, waiting for a butler to answer the door. Not my mother, but a butler.

Needless to say, my mood was not the greatest.

_Fucking come ON_.

Finally the door was opened by an older, grandfatherly-looking gentleman, complete with gray hair and a mustache. He reminded me of John Clease. He bowed to me slightly, already apologizing profusely. "Mr. Masen, I'm so sorry, sir. There was a problem in the kitchen that needed my attention.

"Don't worry about it," I murmured, handing him my bag. "Just take these up to my room. I won't tell Mrs. Masen."

He looked at me blankly.

"Upstairs, third door on the right," I informed him. He looked fairly new, his movements still a little unsure and nervous. I felt a little bad for him. I handed him a twenty dollar bill, and then murmured, "If you hurry, you'll get out of sight long enough to avoid her."

Unfortunately, he was too late. Esmonster walked around the corner, all long talons and fire-breathing bitchiness. She looked the same as ever, her hair coiled back tightly and her feet crammed into black designer something-or-other heels. She seemed to smell the butler's unease for she walked right up to him and asked, "Is there a problem, William?"

He shook his head. "No, ma'am. I was just about to take Mr. Masen's bags to his room."

"You may as well get yours while you're there," she said, an eyebrow arching hostilely over her cold green eye.

I was still standing on the front stoop, of course. My balls were probably going to fall off any second.

"Pardon?"

"You're fired, William," she said coolly. Just like that.

"Mrs. Masen," he sputtered, "please..."

"Tell your wife I said to get well soon," Mother said dismissively. She turned on her heel. "I expect you out of my house within ten minutes."

And with that she exited the room.

William's head hung low and I could hear sniffles. I hated these scenes my mother loved to produce. They made me feel like shit. And shit was not something I wanted to feel like right now. Hence the desperate attempt at getting drunk in Massachusetts. I cleared my throat and he seemed to get his bearings, moving away from the door. I stepped in and closed the door behind me.

William grabbed my bag without a word and headed for the staircase. I made to follow him but heard my mother's voice call out coldly, "Edward. Dinner is on the table, don't make your father wait."

"Fuck him," I murmured under my breath. "I'll be right there," I called. "I need to make sure he doesn't steal anything!"

I saw William stiffen in front of me and immediately felt awful. But I said nothing. Just followed him up the stairs like a puppy.

Down the hall.

Past Guest Bedroom Number One.

Past Guest Bedroom Number Two.

My room.

He pushed open the door softly before depositing my bags against the wall. He turned to leave, but I took a deep breath and called, "Wait."

He turned to me and I had to steel myself against the agony and despair in his eyes. They were red from unshed tears. His hands were trembling. I had seen a number of butlers get fired from my mother's hire, as well as maids, cooks and drivers. Several of whom I had grown very close to... Carlisle being one in particular... and I had never seen them react this way. Well, Carlisle had come very close to punching my father in the face when he was let go, but other than that they had all traipsed out the door as obediently as saints marching in.

"What she said? About your wife?" He nodded gruffly. "What did she mean?"

He sighed and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "My Stephenie's sick," he said harshly. "Stage five breast cancer. She's in her second round of chemotherapy. I... we exhausted our savings on her medical expenses. We have nothing left. I was... well I..."

He shook his head and turned to leave again. I stopped him.

"Wait."

He turned to me. I motioned him to wait with a finger and turned into my room, rifling through my bag until I found my checkbook and Mount Blanc fountain pen. Resting them against the desk against the inside wall of my room, I quickly scribbled the first amount that came to mind and scribbled my name. Turning back to him, I held it out soundlessly.

"I'm sure this isn't enough," I murmured. "But I hope it helps."

He choked. "Sir, I can't take this. It's... it's too much."

"Please," I whispered. "Take it."

Again, he shook his head. My eyes turned hard.

"Take the money or I will tell my mother you stole my family crest. That bracelet is worth more than this check threefold and she'll have your ass in jail so quickly you won't even be able to think about your wife."

He spluttered but reached out and took the check. "Mr. Masen—"

"William, call me Edward. I'm giving you a hundred thousand dollars, the least you can do is be on a first-name basis with me."

"Edward... this is too much. I... I don't know how I can pay you back..."

"Just get out of here before my mother realizes how long we've been up here. Please. I can't deal with her theatrics tonight. You can consider us even after that."

Because believe me, I would pay one hundred times that check to get her to shut the fuck up for one night.

He nodded quickly and turned to go. I called after him one more time.

"William?"

He turned.

"I'm sorry."

I hoped he knew that I wasn't just sorry about my mother's behavior, but about his wife also. He just nodded, seeming to understand, and I watched as his back retreated down the stairs. I fell back against the wall, exhausted.

I already want to go back to fucking school. How fucked up is that?

...Fuck I'm tired. I just want to go to bed.

_God, or Buddha, or Ghandi or whoever the fuck is living up there right now, please don't make me go down there. I will give everything I own if I don't have to go down there..._

"Edward!"

Ungh. Goddamn you.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

Okay, so I'm invoking creative license here. I don't go to Harvard, I haven't gone to Harvard, I'd give my right tit to go to Harvard. So I obviously have no idea what kinds of shenanigans go on there. But I'm going to make up a bunch of stuff and hope you all go with it, yeah?

So... Esme and Carlisle aren't together. Thoughts? Predictions? Comments?

You've probably guessed our mystery woman is Bella. Snaps and gropes all around. Hopefully I'll introduce her a little later. Just hang on to your knickers, girls.

I'm also going to introduce a new little custom with this story. There's going to be lots of drama (not necessarily the emotional kind of drama), but lots of involvement in theatre and such. So I'm going to recommend a movie at the end of every chapter. If you have a favorite move that you want me to watch or have seen something awesome, or you just know a really fucking fantastic movie quote, PLEASE let me know. Movies are my favorite things and I will love you forever if you feed my addiction.

Okay, so this chapter the **MOVIE REC** is:

*Blue Valentine*starring Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams: Not because I want to hop into bed with Ryan Gosling, but because I know a few of my readers like the angst. Well, ladies—and gents?—this movie has a fuck-ton of it. And lots of graphic sex scenes, but you can't all be appalled at that because you spend so much time reading smut on here. So... nuff said.

Alright, I've spent way too much time on my soap box. Please review and feed another one of my addictions. I can't set an update schedule because I'm lazy and have a lot of other stuff going on at the moment, but I will do my best to get this one out there. It's gonna be a good one. And I can't promise to get back to every review, but I'm going to try my damnedest.

ALRIGHT I'M DONE NOW.


	2. Trophy Son

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Shout out to Kismetian for the hilarious review… You, my dear, have now given Edward a nickname. Ladies and gents, I give you Twatward.

A quick thank you to those that review. It means so much to me :)

Now we get to spend some time in Forks with the Mother and Father and learn a little bit more about Edward's home life. Nuff said on that topic.

To avoid confusion, this story used to be "All the Wildflowers in the World." Kind of a long title, I didn't like it, etcetera etcetera. New name, which I like much better. Capice?

If you want a point of reference for Edward's home, I just created a flickr account with some great pictures:

www (dot) flickr (dot) com / photos / 58458509N06 / sets / 72157627308379304 /

Now, would a house like this be built in Forks? Probably not. Again, creative license. Keep checking back for updates on stuff, but I'll remind you at the beginning of each chapter.

Alright, enough of that. Here we go!

**Club music:  
><strong>_Loose as a Goose_ – Lil Boosie  
><em>Make It Rain<em> – Kottonmouth Kings  
><em>Get Low<em> – Stat Quo  
><em>Make It Nasty - <em>Tyga

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two: Trophy Son<strong>

_"Oh right right right, I'm supposed to act like I don't know if it's right, so that you tell me that there is no right or wrong. It's just the moment. And then I tell you that I can't, while actually signaling to you that I can, which you don't need because you're not really listening. Because this isn't about connection for you, this isn't even about sex for you. This is about finding an hour or two of relief from the pain of being you." – Love and Other Drugs_

Dinner with my parents was never an all-too-happy affair. We ate food, answered each other monosyllabically and stared at the walls for most of the time—well, I did anyway. My mother sat at one end of the table and constantly complained about the décor of the dining room, proposing new ideas for curtains or a different shade of black maple for the floor. My father sat on the other end, sometimes reading the newspaper, sometimes on his laptop.

The table seated sixteen. Fourteen chairs separated them in the middle.

And me. I separated them too. Three chairs on either side of me.

The atmosphere was arctic, and not just because Edward Sr. kept the thermostat down to sixty in the middle of winter during a snowstorm. He was pissed about something, as usual, and Mother was doing her usual flittering about, trying to calm him down and distract him but basically just making everything worse.

They'd been prying, as usual, but I'd been dodging the Inquisition like the plague, avoiding my father's questions about Harvard and ignoring my mother's inquiries into my extracurriculars.

I could only imagine how that conversation would go.

Well, Mother, rather than join the rowing club or partake in fencing, I've been snorting any powdery shit I can get my hands on and fucking the Senator's daughter.

She'd choke on her snow peas and die of asphyxiation. Or a stroke.

Whichever came first.

I sat rigidly in my seat, pushing my food around my plate rather than eating it. Why she insisted on having these retched dinners was beyond me. It was torture for probably every single person at the table—Dad would rather be holed up in his office with cigars and paperwork. I'd rather be in my room reading or down in the conservatory playing piano or jacking off in the shower or doing laps in the pool or…

Yeah, you get the point.

I would rather be anywhere but here.

I mean, I know she wants us to be the pretty family found in the glossy pages of some Martha Stewart-for-upscale-people magazine that she kept in her bathroom. She wants us to pretend that we can stand each other so as to create the image of a non-dysfunctional family. But unfortunately for her, that's not the case. Dad would just as much eat dinner in a homeless shelter before he would eat dinner with us.

Ah, fuck him.

I sliced through a flaky piece of salmon, pushed it through the lemon-butter sauce and then around my plate three times before spearing it and raising it to my mouth. Fortunately for me, I didn't have to eat it. My father spoke up just as it touched my lip.

"I got a call from Aro Volturi today," he said.

I felt my brow furrow. "The headmaster?"

"Yes, Edward, who else?" my mother sighed dramatically.

"Shut up, Esme," Edward said from the head of the table. His eyes were icy and cold. "I was talking to the boy."

Her lips pursed like the fish on her china plate but she said nothing, bowing her head to meet her forkful of asparagus.

"What about?" I inquired.

"Nothing much," he replied, sipping his wine lazily. "Just to catch up, schedule a golf game, that sort of thing. He informed me of your midterm scores as well."

Discussing your next golf game and my midterm grades in one breath. Casual thing, NBD.

"And?" I replied.

"You got a 96 on your Calculus exam," he said thoughtfully. His movements were slow. Drawn out. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. A pause. Breathing. "And I think a 98 in Italian. 92 in Physics, that's fine. A little too close but we can manage. I was alarmed when he informed me of the 87 percent you got in Organic Chemistry, but I donated five hundred thousand dollars to the library to get him to fudge it in the computer system. Your report should say a 91."

I sighed. Of course he would. I was past the point of surprise. Any normal person would be fucking overjoyed to get an 87 in Organic Chemistry. Hell, I was overjoyed to have gotten an 87 in Organic Chemistry without the bribery. That shit is fucking hard, plain and simple.

But not my father. Nope, anything below a 90 was not acceptable.

"That's great," I said, spearing a slice of potato.

"Have you gotten back to Caius Kahn about the internship?"

"Nope," I said, sipping my water. "Haven't gotten around to it."

"Haven't gotten around to it," my father mimicked.

Shit.

I'd pissed him off.

Here we go.

Internally, I rolled my eyes.

"Edward, that internship is a guaranteed position in one of the largest, most successful, most powerful investment banks in the world. I handed it to you on a fucking silver platter and all you had to do was press a few buttons on your goddamn phone. Is it really that hard, or are you just too busy playing patty cake with Senator Denali's daughter to do it?" I didn't answer. " Are you going to answer me," he roared, "or are you just too stupid?"

I heard my mother hiss at the end of the table. "Edward!"

I couldn't tell if she was talking to me or my father. Most likely me, since she was used to his degradation.

I said nothing.

"I mean, Jesus H Christ, Edward, I don't pay over ninety thousand dollars a year to send you to one of the most prestigious schools in the country so you can fuck around and throw your life away. I'm giving you opportunities that anyone in this bum-fuck town would give their eye-teeth for and you're just throwing it away like it's shit on your shoe."

I just sat there. There was no point in even responding to him; telling him that I made A's in some of the hardest classes possible at one of the hardest schools possible or asking him when the last time he even took Organic Chemistry was; that I'd already called Caius Kahn and the spot had already been filled; that I didn't want to go into investment banking.

I said nothing.

"The world isn't on a fucking string in your back pocket, Edward. You're going to realize that because you can't keep turning your pompous nose up at every opportunity I give you. One day I won't do it anymore and then you're going to have nowhere to go. You're going to be a miserable failure, just like—"

"Edward," my mother warned from the head of the table. "That's enough."

"Esme," he seethed, his voice barely audible. The calm with which he spoke to her made my hair stand on end. "I told you to shut up! I won't tell you again!"

I'd heard enough. Tossing my napkin onto my plate, I stood from the table. Turning away, I strode to the grand double doors that led out of the dining room as quickly as my feet would carry me, ignoring my father and mother yelling from behind me.

"Edward, we're not finished! Get back in here!"

"Edward, please! Come back and finish your salmon!"

"Good night, Mother!" I yelled, yanking the heavy door and slamming it closed behind me. I didn't stop walking as I went down the hallway, barely noticing the snow falling heavily now outside the Gothic arched windows. My footsteps thudded heavily against the carpeted floors, the sound reverberating throughout the cold, empty hallway.

I marched through the wide archway that led to the marble foyer and up the grand, sweeping staircase that led to the second floor. I continued down the dark hallway, past Guest Bedroom Numbers One and Two to my room. Closing the door behind me, I went over to my bed and flopped down on it.

After about five minutes of stuffy breathing, I rolled over and glanced about the room. Since I'd left for my first year of school, Esme had slowly begun to redecorate my room as a way of phasing me out. The once slate gray walls were now a dark, blackish steely blue. My bed had stayed, but now it was barely unrecognizable. She'd had posts built on, and rather than just leave the posts alone, she had draped them with some heavy dark blue fabric that formed a canopy.

This is bullshit, I hate this. How the hell am I supposed to sleep when I'm worried about that shit falling down and suffocating me?

She'd taken my bookshelf out and replaced it with an enormous, baroque-style black armoire. _No clue where the fuck my books went._ She replaced my dresser with one that matched, large and black. The floor was covered by a large, circular area rug and there was an electrical fire in the corner, surrounded by two black leather chairs. Dark, ominous paintings hung on the walls and I knew it was going to be hard to sleep because frankly, they creeped me the fuck out.

There was even a fucking chandelier.

The only things I recognized from my childhood bedroom were the large French doors that opened up to a small balcony, overlooking the large pond behind the house. Standing, I went over to them and pushed them open, welcoming the chill that hit me full in the face. I rifled through my pockets, pulling out my cigarette case which luckily I'd found in my suitcase on the way from the airport.

I placed it on my bottom lip and commenced lighting up. I took an appreciative drag but hacked all the smoke back up when I heard a disapproving, "Edward," from behind me.

"Jaysus fucking Christ!" I cursed, a bit of my Irish accent coming out. Don't ask me where it came from, we had moved from Ireland when I was ten. I'd grown well accustomed to America in the ten and a half years I'd been here. On a rare occasion such like this though, when I get scared out of my goddamn wits, it emerges, reminding me of my much more blissful youth on the emerald shores.

"You know I don't appreciate smoking in my house," my mother warned, her voice stern. "Or swearing."

"Sorry," I muttered, taking another drag and blowing smoke into the swirling arctic air. "Won't do it again."

"Your father is only doing what is best for you," she said, her voice taking on the barely-there maternal tone that she somehow managed around her all her fire-breathing. "We only want the best things for you."

"Yeah, I know," I responded, bracing myself against the black railing. "'Preciate it."

I heard her sigh behind me but didn't respond further. I continued to inhale and exhale, the smoke burning and soothing.

"Enough with the dramatics, Edward. Come down and finish your dinner."

"I'm not hungry, thanks," I responded coolly. "I'm actually pretty wrecked from the plane ride so I'd be eternally grateful if you'd leave the meddling up to Daddy Warbucks for one night and let me alone so I can sleep."

She sighed again but when I finally turned around, she had disappeared from the doorway and I could hear her heels clacking down the hallway. Moving toward the door, I pressed it closed and made sure to turn the key in the lock.

Internally I rolled my eyes. Unnecessary, annoying fucking show-off.

Tossing my cigarette into some antique vase slash urn in the corner of the room I collapsed onto the bed again, crossing my hands behind my bed and staring at the navy-fabric-covered ceiling. I stayed like that, avoiding looking anywhere but up in hopes that I could fall asleep. But I could feel the eyes of those goddamn paintings on me and they creeped me out so bad I ended up unpacking my suitcase and covering them with a few of my button-down shirts. But even then, I still couldn't sleep.

I sighed, rolling over and pressing my face into my pillow.

I was so fucked.

* * *

><p>"Pull!"<p>

The metal arm was released and a clay pigeon rocketed into the air. Keeping my eye trained on it, I pulled the trigger as it arched, ignoring the sting of the rifle's kickback and watching in satisfaction as it shattered with a loud pop.

"Sonofabitch," I heard from behind me.

I grinned, spinning the rifle until the barrel was pointed towards my face. I pulled out a handkerchief and began methodically wiping residue off of it. "That's ten in a row, fucker. Pay up."

A head of blond hair emerged at my right and I heard him count out the bills. "One... two... three... four... five. Five hundred dollars." He held the bills out to me. "You've got that thing rigged, Edward, I swear."

I snorted, folding the bills up and sticking them in the pocket of my jeans. "And how would I do that, Jasper? You're the only one in the state of Washington who knows how to work the goddamn thing. Plus, it's probably three hundred years old. I don't think I'd even be capable of rigging it."

"True story. By the way, I've got a friend of a friend who could get you a hefty price for it."

"I'm not selling," I said, blowing on the barrel and flipping it back around. I aimed at one of my mother's primly pruned spruce trees. "It's about the only thing that keeps me sane in this hell hole."

To emphasize my point, I pulled the trigger again, smirking as a section of the tree trunk exploded into millions of wooden shards. It was enough to make a noticeable mark without destroying the tree, though that was something I was more than willing to do.

"Esme's gonna have your ass," Jasper chuckled.

"Ah, fuck her," I shrugged. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the joint I'd rolled that morning rather than eating breakfast. I held it out to him. "You gonna have some?"

He put his hands up and shook his head. "Nah man, can't. Mrs. Whitlock has resorted to drug testing me once a week since I got kicked out of Dartmouth."

"I've got a few detox kits in my closet somewhere."

He shook his head again. "Doesn't work, man. I've tried."

"Shit," I breathed, lighting up and taking a drag. The smoke burned through my lung capillaries, suffocating me and leaving a nasty aftertaste in my mouth. I hacked up a strangled cough.

"Goddamn Emmett and his bunk-ass weed."

Jasper chuckled as he lit his cigarette. "How's he doin' these days?"

I shrugged. "Same old, same old. Still playing football, sleeping through classes and fucking Rose all the time. I swear, his dick is going to shrivel up and fall off." Puff.

"Yeah, but it would be worth it. I swear I'd give my left testicle to get one look at that pussy."

"Still not worth it. It's all brown and floppy."

"You've seen it?"

I shrugged. "She was running late for class one morning and fell in the doorway of our apartment. I was on my way out to go to the gym and had the misfortune of getting a front-row seat in the 'Rosalie Hale Isn't Wearing Panties' show." I shuddered. "Fucking disgusting."

I inhaled again, finally starting to feel the effects of the weed. My mouth began to take on a cottony feel and a familiar sense of calm settled on my shoulders. My arms felt oddly disconnected from my body, heavy and lazy.

"Aw, fuck dude. There's your mother."

I merely shrugged again, watching in amusement as Jasper dropped his cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out with his toe. He was an idiot if he thought the Ice Dragon wouldn't notice. Any oddities in her grass such as a footmark, tiny as it may be, didn't go unnoticed.

He continued to fidget, pulling as his shirt and smoothing out his hair. I chuckled. "Should I leave you two alone?"

He glared at me. "You know cougars ain't my thing."

"That's not what I remember. Didn't you go down on Mrs. Cope in the tenth—"

"Mrs. Masen!" Jasper called loudly in greeting.

"Jasper Whitlock, is that you? Well of course it is, I knew that was your Ferrari in the driveway! How are you, dear?"

I rolled my eyes.

Such a fucking actress.

"I'm doing well, Mrs. Masen. Did you color your hair? It looks lovely."

I wanted to gag. Instead, I puffed on the joint, ignoring them and aiming the gun at another tree in the distance.

"Well aren't you sweet! Yes, I did. It's called 'Rusty Auburn.' My stylist assured me it would have come out darker but it's still a little too light. I'm thinking about having her license revoked."

"No need to go to extreme measures, Mrs. Masen. I think it looks great."

"Thank you, dear. How is your mother doing? I haven't seen her in ages!"

Jasper turned on the full charm, grinning cheekily. So fucking much that his dimples came out. I wanted to hurl.

"She's moved on to husband number seven. They're honeymooning in Prague right now."

"Oh yes, I'd read about that in the papers. That sounds wonderful. What I wouldn't give for a little... Edward, is that marijuana you're smoking?"

I pursed my lips and shook my head. "I would never," I said in mock horror, placing a hand over my heart.

Jasper's facade broke and he choked on a laugh. I glanced over to see him covering his mouth, but I could still see the corners turned up.

"Do you have any idea what people will think if they smell that... that... scent drifting from my backyard? Edward, have you no care for anyone but yourself?" she hissed. I wanted to laugh in her face.

I sighed, inhaling the last few hits that I could before dropping it to the ground and stubbing it out with my toe. "Mother, in all the ten and a half years that we have lived here, I have only seen thirty or so cars drive by while I was here. Every single one of them belonged butlers or maids that you fired." I exhaled, blowing smoke right into her face. "Trust me when I say that I don't think anyone will notice."

I could see her jaw clench, but I knew she wouldn't say anything. She was too much of a stuck-up cow to create a scene, even if we were only in front of my childhood best friend. So she just huffed and said through her teeth, "Jasper, dear, it was great to see you. Edward, your father would like to see you in his study in fifteen minutes. He expects you to be there on time," and then turned on her heel and marched back to the stairs that led up to the house.

I turned back to Jasper, only to see him eying my mother's ass. I glared at him.

"Oh come on, asshole. For a woman in her fifties, she has got a nice ass."

"Shut up, you prick," I mumbled, toeing the rifle.

"Why do you think she came out here to tell you that? Doesn't she usually just send a butler?"

I sighed. "We don't have one yet. She just fired him yesterday."

"Ah," was his intelligent reply. Not that I could blame him; it was a common occurrence in our families. Especially in his. His mother is worse than mine.

"I guess I better go then," he said, popping a piece of gum in his mouth. "Technically, I'm on lockdown until Mother and the Director get back and I am not supposed to leave the house. I just bribed Maria with a little tongue action and got a few hours."

"I thought she spoke Russian," I said, following a bird in the sky with the tip of my gun.

"Yeah, but she understands crude gestures," he said. And to demonstrate, he raised his index and middle finger, spread into a 'V' to his lips and provocatively flicked his tongue between then a few times. I snickered.

"Well then, go get her tiger," I laughed, dropping the gun to the ground and stretching my arms above my head. "I don't want to get in your way."

Always one for dramatics, Jasper bent over in a deep bow, his chest coming very close to level with his knees. He swooped a hand to his heart, the other behind him as he stuck a leg forward. "I appreciate your permission, my liege," he drawled in an overly excessive medieval British accent. "I shall not be gone but a fortnight."

I rolled my eyes and started back toward the house. "Peace out, fucker."

Stuffing my hands in my pocket, I climbed the fifty-something stairs up to the veranda, briefly nodding to the lawn guy who was pruning one of Mother's trees. On the way in through the French doors I ran into Gianna, my mother's assistant. She was attractive, dark and lean, but not my type. Still, I couldn't help but eye her ass in the tight skirt she was wearing as she passed by me over to the table and chairs in the corner. She looked over the china and crystal dinner set up, taking notes on a little pad.

"Hello Edward," she acknowledged, not even looking up. Disdain was evident in her tone and it made me smile.

"Hey there, Tia. What do we have going on tonight?"

"Your mother is having a few guests over and I'm just making sure everything is in order." Her voice was similar to that of someone explaining the news report of the morning. She did not want to speak to me, but that made it all the more fun.

"Oh yeah? Which guests?"

She rolled her eyes at me. "Isn't your father expecting you?"

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back against the brick wall nonchalantly; even propping my foot against the wall for extra measure. "Yeah," I answered, grinning. "But I can be late if I tell him I'm talking to you."

"But you're not talking to me," she said, finally looking up. "At least you better not be in about five seconds."

"Feisty," I grinned. "I like it."

"Get lost, Edward," she said, pulling out her Blackberry and dialing in a number. She raised the phone to her ear and mouthed "Go!" to me before speaking into the phone. "I don't like these napkins, Henry. Get me new ones."

I turned and made my way to the door. "Make sure you fuck her hard, Henry," I called. "She's a bit frigid today." I walked through the doors, not waiting for a response and headed through the house to my father's study. The deeper I went into the house, the more my light mood dissipated. My feet grew heavier with each step, my body temperature seeming to drop ten degrees.

I came to the door and knocked lightly before pushing it open. Edward was sitting at his desk, glasses perched on his nose as he read through what looked like a legal document. He didn't glance up as I entered, didn't even acknowledge me. Putting on a false bravado like I put on a pair of jeans, I flopped down into an overstuffed leather chair that sat next to his desk. My legs went over the arm while my head hung back over the other arm.

"You better not be sitting like that when I look up," Edward said, his tone lethal.

Rolling my eyes, I righted myself. "What do you need, Dad?" I asked.

"I just got off the phone with Peter Rossi," he said, finally looking up at me. He eased his glasses off his nose and slowly placed them on the desk next to him. He folded his hands carefully, resting his chin on them. His movements were slow, meticulous. Calculated.

He was furious.

And I knew exactly what he was furious about.

Fuck. Me.

Peter Rossi was a very high ranking official on the Harvard Board of Directors. He had been at a cocktail party that I attended with Tanya one night and overheard her boasting to her father's society friends that I was planning to become a doctor—something I had not discussed with her in detail, so I knew she was only talking about it to show off. I was wasted, of course (that was the only way I could deal with those people), so when he confronted me about it, I told him of my plans to apply without thinking that this information would get back to my father.

Well, now it had. And I was fucked.

"Have anything to say?" he asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about?"

"Don't fucking lie to me!" he erupted, his face turning red as a vein pulsed in his forehead. "You sonofabitch, who the hell do you think you are? Embarrassing me like that in front of the motherfucking Senator. Have you lost your goddamn mind?"

"You don't even—"

"Know who he is? You're damn right I do! How do you fucking think you got into Harvard? Certainly not because of your intellect. How do you think Tanya did? Not because of hers either! Think, Edward! What is the name of that university on my degree, or can't you fucking read?" He hitched a thumb at the wall of degrees behind him. All from Harvard. Fuck. "Maybe you two got in because your parents went there? Maybe because your fathers both gave a half a million dollars to the same fraternity? The same fraternity that they both belonged to?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I didn't care that he got me into Harvard with his money—it was never a doubt in my mind. What made me feel sick to my stomach was the fact that I had underestimated the power and position he held in the establishment. I thought maybe he knew a professor or two; now it was being made blatantly clear to me that he knew way more people than just a few. He knew the Headmaster, the counselors, he probably even knew the fucking clerks in the Admissions Office.

And that thought made me even sicker. There was no chance I was applying to Medical School now. Not even a prayer.

"If you were anyone else's son you could be a doctor," Edward spat. "If you were Carlisle Cullen's son you could be a doctor. You could go to UW with the rest of those useless fucks and get swept under the rug like a goddamn cockroach. But you are not anyone else's son, you are my son and you will not embarrass me. When I set up appointments for you, you go. When I hand you connections on a fucking business card, you call the number. When I put you on the path of success and prestige and fucking power, you take that fucking road running! I have put too much time and effort and money into your sorry ass to see it wasted. So don't you dare embarrass me like that again, do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," I replied, ashamed at how my voice cracked. At how weak I sounded.

"Good. Now get your sorry ass out of my office. And don't let me see your face again."

I stood from the chair and walked toward the door, my head low and my heart heavy. I reached for the doorknob, twisting it and pulling the door open. His voice stopped me again.

"And Edward?"

I turned to face him. His grin made me want to vomit.

"Tanya's mother always liked it from behind. I assume Tanya would as well."

* * *

><p>"Dude that's fucked up," Jasper told me as he sped down the highway to Port Angeles, passing the blunt to me. I took a drag and blew it out the window, shrugging.<p>

"He was right though. She always cums harder when I fuck her that way."

"Yeah but I mean," Jasper paused as he took a drag, "Your dad fucked her mom. How long do you think that went on, dude? Tanya could be your—"

"I don't even want to think about it," I said, halting his statement as I knew what would come next. It was something I had been pondering all afternoon. "All I know is I'm not fucking her anymore."

"Good call," he said, tossing the joint out the window. "Where's this place we're going to anyway?"

"It's called Volterra," I answered, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "Just opened up a week ago."

"Any good?"

I shrugged. "I've heard some good things about it. The dancers supposedly have huge tits."

"Welcome to every strip club in America, Edward," he said, rolling his eyes. "That doesn't make this place special."

"Well I don't know what the fuck you want me to say!" I responded sharply, blowing smoke out the window. "It opened a week ago. I just got here yesterday. How much am I supposed to know about it?"

"Woah, chill out dude," Jasper responded, looking warily at me. "I'm just trying to understand the rush. I mean you didn't really give me any forewarning, just called me up and insisted we leave. I'm trying to process it."

I scrubbed a hand down my face. "Edward's just being a massive prick today," I answered. "And Mother is having some company over tonight and I'm not in the mood to play the part of trophy son tonight."

"I understand. You want some more weed?"

"I thought you said you couldn't smoke," I said in confusion. "Just a few hours ago you were completely against it."

"Mrs. Whitlock and Number Seven extended their honeymoon for another two months. So I'm good to go for at least a few weeks."

"Well fuck," I said, reaching into the glove compartment. "Do you have any stronger shit?"

"I think I've got some acid in the trunk," he said, pressing on the accelerator. "Wait, hang on." He reached over and rifled through the glove compartment, flipping through fake IDs and fast food napkins until he pulled out a little plastic baggie. He flicked it into my lap. "Look through that and tell me if it's good. It's been in there for a while but it was decent quality when I bought it."

I opened the bag of cocaine, my mouth watering as I raised it near my face. It had a slight shimmer, a good thing. Smelled slightly like gasoline, check. Not pure powder, had a few clumps. I dipped my finger in it and rubbed it along my gums.

I waited.

And waited.

"I think someone cut it with lidacaine," I announced, zipping the baggie back up. I ran my tongue between my lips and gums, which were finally starting to numb.

"Are you shitting me?"

I shook my head. "I've done enough coke to know whether this shit is pure or cut. It's cut."

"Well fuck, man, get rid of it."

I tossed it out the open window without a second thought.

"Jesus fuck, that's the fourth time in a month."

"Are you for real?"

"Yeah man, I don't know what it is. All the dealers up here suck ass."

"Well that's what you get for not staying in Texas when your mother gave you the chance."

He rolled his eyes. "I was six, Edward. I didn't even know what cocaine was. All I knew was I wanted to live Mommy because Daddy was mean."

"Well, now you have to deal with the consequences."

He signaled onto an exit ramp and slowed to a stop at the bottom. "Well, fuck," he said with a Southern accent. "I just may move back there yet."

We arrived at the club a little past nine and it was already packed. We each took two hits of ecstasy with a "Bottom's up" from Jasper and made our way out of the parking lot. Ignoring complaints from people in line, we pushed our way to the front and spoke hurriedly to the bouncer. "Edward Masen and Jasper Whitlock."

He scanned the list, taking way too long to find our names. Finally, he located them and moved aside the red velvet rope, stepping back to allow us through the doorway.

The music was loud; the room throbbed with a pulse of its own. The flashing lights were enough to give someone a brain aneurism. The room smelled of sweat and heat and sex and alcohol. It was familiar. It was comfortable.

But it only made me tense up that much more.

I grabbed ahold of the first girl I could, grinding my hips against her and sighing in relief when she responded. I wrapped one arm around her hips, hauling her back hard against me and fisted the other hand in her hair, holding her head firmly in front of me so she couldn't move. She couldn't turn around. She would remain faceless.

We ground against each other like savages, barbarically thrusting in time to the thick music pumping from the speakers. I could feel her breathing again me, her heart pounding erratically, her breaths coming quickly. I pulled her head back against my shoulder, burying my face in the crook of her neck. I blew hot air against her skin, not moved when she shivered in my arms.

I picked up the pace and ground more harshly against her ass. I reached a hand down, digging at the flesh of her stomach until I could get beneath her dress. I stuck my fingers down the front of her panties, not caring about the wetness I found there, not caring what she wanted or whether it felt good for her or not.

I pumped my fingers inside of her once, twice, three times. She arched against me. Pulling my hand out, I grabbed her around the waist and hauled her in the direction of the bathrooms. I pushed the door open, ignoring the girls at the mirror fixing their hair and reapplying their makeup. Pushing a cubicle stall door open, I shoved the girl inside, slamming and locking the door behind me.

I refused to look at her. I kept my eyes focused on my hands as they pushed her dress up, on her legs as I wrapped them around my hips, on her nipples as her back arched against the wall. On her fingers as she undid my belt, on her hips as she pushed them down onto me, on her pussy as I shoved my cock into it roughly over and over again.

Her cries went unheard. Her skin went untasted. She went unsatisfied. As soon I spilled inside of her I pulled out, pulling up my jeans and refastening my belt, pushing through the door. I heard her screaming profanities behind me but I couldn't decipher the words. I wasn't paying attention anyway.

I noticed nothing as I pushed through the club. Didn't notice hands reaching out to grab me, didn't notice the music changing or the shots that appeared under my nose. I didn't notice anything as I pushed through the back entrance, didn't notice as I fell on my hands and knees in the back alley.

I didn't notice anything until the entire contents of my stomach appeared before me on the ground below and my head hit the asphalt as I passed out cold.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

Yes, no? Sorry about the delay, but it could not be helped.

Few things: Don't worry about Edward, he's fine. No harm will come to him, I promise. Well, not the overdosing kind at least. Kind of a rocky home life, more will come on that at a later date.

Thoughts? Questions? Concerns?

This week's **MOVIE REC:**

*Love and Other Drugs* with Anne Hathaway and Jake Gyllenhal: Yes, it's been out for quite some time, I know. But if you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it. It's full of all kinds of smut, foul language and a ton of good laughs… so it's basically a fanfic on screen. The storyline is fantastic and even had me weepy at a few scenes; it is a perfect blend of comedy, romance and drama and is great for a movie night with the friends. One word of caution however: Moms, don't watch this with your kids. And kids (who should be over 18 if you're reading this), don't watch this with your moms. I made that mistake and let me tell you, I still have not recovered from the mortification of hearing some woman moaning "Squeeze my nub harder" while my mother was in the room with me—and let's just say it got worse from there.

Leave a review!


	3. Umbilical Noose

Chapter written to _Someday_ _You Will be Loved_ by Deathcab for Cutie. Fantastic song. Nuff said.

**Also featuring:**  
><em>Bryn<em> – Vampire Weekend  
><em>After the Storm<em> –Mumford & Sons

Oh, and before I start… remember those descriptions I gave at the beginning of the story to help you visualize my characters? Well, let me add a few more…

Edward: Paul Wesley (plays Stefan on Vampire Diaries, and let's be honest, a lot of you watch it and will agree with me that he is fucking hot) for his style and just overall sex appeal. I'm obsessed with him, just btdubs.

Bella: Lea Michele (plays Rachel Berry in Glee) chosen specifically for her character's performance in Start Me Up / Livin' on a Prayer on Glee… haven't seen it? Look it up. You won't regret it, it's Agron (plays Quinn Fabray on Glee and is in a few other movies, like I am Number Four) for her voice. A few of you messaged asking for a likeness, and if I can give you anything, that's it. Because that voice is gonna play a pretty big part in Edward's mental drama up until their actual meeting… which you all know is gonna happen because it's Twilight. Come on.

Right, on with it.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three: Umbilical Noose<strong>

_"Men think they can do whatever they want. They think the city is theirs. They spray their scent in every corner. They are not afraid."  
>-Lie With Me<em>

I came to to a gentle nudging. I grunted and rolled over into something thick and wet. An acrid stench filled my nose and as a shoe continued to nudge my ribs, I slowly began to regain consciousness and opened my eyes.

"Jasper," I croaked, recognizing his long blond hair through a blurring haze. "What the fuck?"

"I've been looking for you for over an hour, you dick."

I groaned as I rolled over completely and began to sit up. I felt like I'd been hit with a wrecking ball. I checked my Rolex. It was well over three in the morning.

"Shit."

Jasper helped me up and slapped me on the back. "Atta boy. Now let's go get me a girl and then we'll go find the car."

I ran a hand through my slightly wet and sticky hair, choking back a gag as realization of what the smell was began to dawn on me.

"Jasper, I can't get a girl now. I'm a fucking mess."

He pulled open the door that led to the club. "Oh I know, Golden Boy. You're not going home with anyone. Not looking… and smelling… like that anyway." He made a face at me, wrinkling his nose. I wanted to punch him in the mouth.

"Fuck off," I grumbled.

"Cheer up old chap. If we're lucky, maybe we can find a girl drunker than you who won't mind fucking a guy who smells like vomit." As we entered the club, we passed two girls kneeling at the cock of a guy making out with another guy. I winced. "I mean," Jasper continued, unfazed, "most girls don't have any morals anyway."

I rolled my eyes. "No thanks. I'm not desperate."

"Oh." He shrugged. "Well I am. Now let's go find me a girl who will let me put my dick in her ass and then we'll split and head back to chez Masen."

"You're crude."

He merely winked salaciously.

My witty response? An eye-roll.

We pushed our way through the throngs of people, though it wasn't entirely too difficult with the smell that I was emanating. I would have been embarrassed had I been anywhere else, but this club hadn't been that impressive from the get go, let alone at three in the morning. Any and every one with any sense of pride had left a while ago to either go home or find another party, leaving Jasper with some of the slimmest pickings I'd seen since we started clubbing when we were fourteen.

But you'd be an idiot to underestimate Jasper. With me and my stench in tow, he managed to find a decent looking girl with most of her clothing on and only some of her makeup smudged in less than ten minutes. That's just who he is. Regardless of his surroundings or his circumstances, he could charm the panties off a girl and have his cock in her mouth in less than half an hour. I only envied him slightly; while it took him ten minutes, it only took me fifteen.

We walked out of the club toward the car, ahead of the girl and not turning around to look at her. I pulled the seat forward and let her climb in without looking down, and then slammed the seat back barely after she'd gotten settled. I sat in the seat. Closed the door. Turned on the music so I wouldn't have to listen to her speak. Rolled down the window.

Jasper passed me a cigarette and I puffed on it slowly, blowing air out the window.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" he yelled in her direction.

"Mandy!" she called back.

_Course._

"Where're you from, Mandy?"

"Seattle!"

I knew she was yelling to be heard over the radio, but she was acting like she was on a goddamn cheer squad. Way too fucking peppy for three in the morning. I wanted to cover my ears like a whiny two year old. Instead, I just sucked on my cigarette more greedily. I'd be home in… an hour or so.

_Jesus Christ_.

"Well baby, that just ain't gonna do. I'm not driving you all the way back to Seattle with a hangover so you're going to have to catch a cab. Hope you're okay with that, otherwise you may as well get out here."

She mumbled something unintelligible, which I just attributed to sorority girl drunkenness and therefore ignored. I just continued to smoke. Inhale, hold, exhale, flick. Inhale, hold, exhale, flick. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

An hour passed in minutes and soon Jasper was dropping me off at my front gate. I hopped out of the car and saluted, ignoring the girl when she climbed over the center console and waved goodbye at me. I didn't bother ringing trying to get the gate open... I wasn't an idiot. There was no butler to buzz me in. So, I merely stubbed out my cigarette on the pavement, placed one foot in the iron wrung and the other on a brick that stuck out slightly from all the rest. Pulling myself up, I ignored Jasper's rude jeers about my ass and with two more steps vaulted the gate. Landing somewhat shakily on the ground, I stood up and spun around, flicking him off before turning to walk down the winding sidewalk that led up to the house… if you could even call it that.

I buried my hands in my pockets as I made my way up the "driveway," huddling inward against the cold as I cut through the icy night air. I could have brought home a girl with me if I really wanted. Could have snuck her into my room easily, fucked her and sent her back out in a few hours. It would have been a pleasant distraction that was for sure.

But it was just me and my hand tonight, so as I made my way across the grounds, I distracted myself with thoughts of the girl I had met—her voice was as much of an aphrodisiac as a drunk girl's pussy would be anyway. The way she'd said my name, all soft and breathy… God just thinking about it made my dick hard.

_For what it's worth, I think you're plenty rich Edward Masen_…

Edward Masen.

Edward Masen.

Fuck, I hate that name.

It's a name and a curse, as poetic as that sounds. I was born cursed, how cute. I share it with my father—a stretch to call him that, really—and if it is any indication of what my life is to become in the next thirty years, I may as well fucking kill myself while I'm walking. Just flick my lighter against my sweater and be done with it. Because living the life of Edward Masen Sr. would be worse than any type of punishment, worse than death. Living the life of Edward Masen would be living in perpetual purgatory, Dante's ninth circle or whatever—because fuck knows, he's committed every single one of those sins, from lust to avarice to fraud to treachery and back again.

God, I couldn't even…

_No, no more depressing thoughts, Edward. Back to your girl_.

Edward Masen…

Edward Masen…

Edward Masen…

"Edward Masen!"

I startled awake, rolling over and groaning as my nose pressed into the Persian rug. How did I know it was Persian? Because that's all my mother fucking bought. That and six hundred thread count Egyptian cotton. How I got onto said Persian rug… well I don't quite remember that part. But sue me, I didn't really give a shit how I got there either. I was still strung out and doped up from the night before and all I wanted was for Dragon Lady to finish yelling at me so I could go take a bath.

"Edward Masen, get out of my doorway this instant!" she hissed. "The gardeners will be here any second and I don't want them to see you passed out in the middle of my foyer!"

"God forbid," I groaned, rolling over and sitting up in an oddly familiar action that had been played out not six hours before. I checked my Rolex. Yep. Only eight thirty in the morning.

I hoisted myself up, ignoring when the room spun and made my way toward the staircase. About halfway up, I turned toward her and in a very Russell Brand / Captain Sparrow-like move, gesturing to her broadly with a sweep of my arm through the air. "And by the way, thank you for your concern. I'm fine, really. Just a bit of a wild night, drugged up a little bit, no big deal. Your son did enough drugs last night to probably send himself to the ER if not the morgue, but just so long as no one knows it's cool, right?"

"Edward, stop trying to make a scene."

I laughed humorlessly. "Right, I forgot. You're supposed to do that. Sorry, forgot my line."

Her eyes snapped up to me, cold and penetrating. "Watch how you speak to me. I'm your mother."

I chuckled again. "And what a fine job you're doing. Really. Mother of the Year award goes to you, Esmeralda Masen. I don't know how I could survive without you." I walked up a few steps. "Oh wait, that's right. I've been doing that just fine for the past five years." My bravado was starting to wear off, so I either needed to turn and walk away, or give her a line that would make her shut up. The best choice would be to take the high road and walk away.

But I'm a bastard and the only high roads I take are ones involving acid and marijuana.

I turned back to her, saturating my tone with sarcasm and mockery… the only way to keep myself from crying like a little boy. "I'm sure I could have gone out and OD'd last night and you wouldn't have fucking cared, as long as no one saw and I didn't get anything on your carpet. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone what a wonderful mother you are. Your secret's safe with me." I'd reached the top of the landing. I couldn't turn around to look at her. "Merry fucking Christmas," I called, turning and striding down the hall toward my room.

I slammed the door shut and locked it, not wanting to be disturbed by anyone until I was ready. Which would be in about two weeks when I headed for the airport.

I stripped quickly, not pausing to process what had happened or even to let my emotions catch up to me. I simply pulled all of my clothing off and walked into the bathroom, locking the door there as well for good measure, drew a bath, and sank into the scalding water. I rested my hands on either side of the tub, loosely holding onto the edges. I sank down in the water until my neck was resting against the edge as well and my entire body was submerged.

Finally I let my head sink under as well, closing my eyes and taking solace in the silence beneath the surface. I didn't put any abnormal amount of effort into holding my breath; I just let myself drift away, finally at peace for the first time since I'd come home.

I stayed that way until the water turned cold and my skin had shriveled. Finally I climbed from the tub and let the water drain before hopping into the shower. I barely had the energy to scrub shampoo into my hair, leaving jacking off out of the question—not really like I was in the mood anyway, since porn was up in Massachusetts and the only girl I was actively fucking was analogous to a donkey.

About thirty minutes later I stepped from the shower—I know, all environmentalist/water conservationist harpies are going to kill me, but quite frankly I don't fucking care—and stepped into my room with a towel wrapped loosely around my waist. Not sure why I grabbed the towel in the first place, because it disappeared almost as soon as it appeared, landing in a pile on my floor as I flopped onto my bed.

I go to sleep naked at ten in the morning. Because I'm classy like that.

I avoided my mother as much as possible that day as well as the next, which wasn't hard considering the size of my house and my expertise in the area of Finding-Myself-Something-to-Do. I swam laps in the 25 meter pool until I couldn't feel my arms and walking felt unsteady. I pushed myself in the weight room, adding more and more weight until I thought my arms were going to fall off. I played piano until my fingers were stiff and aching and my ankles hurt from pressing on the pedal so much. I read Macbeth cover to cover, which was the first play we were studying in my Shakespeare class the following semester—I'd already read it my senior year of high school, but I read it again just for something to do.

I skipped meals for the most part as well. I caught the tail end of breakfast one morning but when I entered the dining room and neither of my parents looked up at me, I figured it was safe to say that I was excused from the horrid affair and grabbed a bagel and went back up to my room. Obviously my father had never was bothered if I was joining them or not and since I'd pissed my mother off enough to the point that she didn't even care if I ate I was able to do as I pleased.

Which ended up working out for me. When the chef left I was able to sneak into the kitchen and do as I pleased. She wouldn't let me touch so much as a fork while she was there, and she was always there before and after breakfast, lunch and dinner. After she left, however, I had free reign. Something I'd always dreamed of. I made some of the nastiest shit in the world just because I could. Once I figured out how to turn the stove on, that is. My favorite was macaroni and cheese—which I purchased a box of at the store, since the only things available in our pantry were organic, unlabeled or exotic—mixed with Spaghetti-O's and chunks of Spam with a side of pizza rolls dipped in tomato soup.

It was nasty as fuck, but I ate it. Just because I could.

I enjoyed my freedom. I frolicked in it. Spreading it around like someone spreads a dog's shit to keep it from digging holes—kind of like, "Back off fuckers. I'm spreading my happiness around so you won't come dig holes in my spirit."

That sort of thing.

Christmas hit like a wrecking ball. The house had been decorated by Gianna—yeah, the tree, the lights, everything—and we didn't really do much for Christmas Eve. Esme went to Christmas Eve mass, but she slipped out and slipped in unnoticed. I just woke up Christmas morning thinking, "It's Christmas. Alright cool"

I went downstairs around eleven, listening for the sound of Christmas music as it was some indication of where my mother was. And, after hearing a rather horrid rendition of Carol of the Bells, I found her sitting in the "family" room with my father. He was wearing a new velvet robe and with matching slippers and was smoking a cigar. I could tell by the sour look on her face that Mother was not in favor of it, but her only option was to open the windows as he was going to continue smoking if he pleased.

"Nice of you to join us, Edward" he said, not looking up from his newspaper.

I scratched the back of my head sloppily. The picture of ease, despite the fact that my nerves were strung tight as Hilary Clinton's pussy… God, I'm terrible with mental pictures. Ugh.

"Yeah, you're welcome," I responded, plopping down on the couch and reaching for the remote.

"Don't you want to open your presents?" my mother asked.

I froze, looking at her quizzically? "Presents?"

She patted the pack of her hair. "Of course you have presents, darling."

"Oh."

I was uncomfortable. We'd been carefully avoiding each other for almost a week, and her… generosity… caught me off guard. I wasn't entirely sure how to react. It was like walking on eggshells, but on my tip toes.

She reached over to a table where there was a small stack of gifts all wrapped in silver—because we were functional enough to color-coordinate our wrapping paper but not enough to put gifts under a fucking Christmas tree—placed in a small pile. She handed me the first one.

"This is from your Aunt Mary."

"The one in Chicago?"

She nodded slightly.

I carefully slid my finger beneath the wrapping—because I can't fucking stand ripping it… call me OCD, whatever, but you don't rip wrapping paper—and pulled back the corners. Inside was a watch. I sputtered.

"Chanel?"

She nodded. "It's from a new line of men's watches they have out. I helped her pick it out. I thought… well, I thought you would like it."

I examined it carefully. I didn't want her to read my expression, but I didn't care where it was from. It was a damn cool watch. And I liked it. A lot.

"It's… it's awesome, Es… Mom. You did a good job. I like it."

Tension seemed to ebb from her shoulders like a thick syrup and she visibly relaxed as if a weight had been lifted from her. Her face softened a bit and she smiled. I was about to smile back when the moment was dashed.

"You better like it," Edward said, again without lifting his head from his newspaper. "Watch cost damn near seven thousand dollars."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Esme's shoulders sag.

"Edward, really, that's not what this is—"

"I was not speaking to you, Esme."

I ignored him and turned to her. "Um, do you have anything to open?"

"We did that already while your lazy ass was asleep," Edward said flippantly. "Just open the fucking gifts so we can move on."

Esme shook her head slightly and reached for another one. "This one's from The Masens in Ireland."

Ah, the Masens. That would be my father's brother, his wife and their two snot-nosed children. Well, I guess they weren't really snot-nosed anymore. Bree was probably sixteen now and one of the biggest whores I'd ever seen—as big a whore as you can get in Ireland, anyway. Riley was around fourteen and had gotten into rugby. Most of his Facebook pictures consisted of him in some sort of cast or another. We talked on chat a few times, and I liked him a lot. He was an asshole like me who was constantly pissed at his parents, constantly ragging on the pathetic girls he had to go to school with and constantly making jokes about his sister.

He reminded me of Emmett a bit, actually.

I took the gift gingerly from Esme, shaking it lightly. It was a large box, so it took my twice as long to unwrap it. Inside was a number of smaller ones, and I pulled out and opened the biggest box. Upon seeing the contents, I shook my head so softly that Esme wouldn't notice. Of course. Inside a set of twelve Waterford crystal tumblers, each engraved with EAM in such fancy cursive you could barely read it.

"Edward, let me see," Esme said eagerly, and I looked up to see a gleeful smile on her face. I handed the box over to her, allowing her to look at them to her hearts content.

I picked up an envelope next and read the letter, trying very hard to contain my laugher.

_Oi, ye twat waffle-_

_The missus told Bree and myself that we had to get ye something special. I about told her to go fack herself, but then remembered that you're me cousin and I like ye. 'Cept for when you're acting the maggot, of course. Anyhow, I've enclosed a special gift that I think you'll take great pleasure in, dear cousin—in different ways than Bree's gift, Mary have mercy on her boggin soul—but I beg you not to open it around your parentals. Your mum may be okay with the fact that you do drugs, but my mum isn't. So, for my sake, don't be an arse bandit and wait to open it til you're alone. Chat me up on Facebook and let me know if you like it._

_I'mma come visit you in the states soon, dickbrain. So ye best be prepared._

_With love and a cocktrough full of affections,  
>R. R. Masen<em>

I chuckled to myself and put the envelope and his gift aside. I pulled out the next item, which was a letter envelope taped to a manila envelope. Bree's note simply read:

_Edward-_

_Fap off to this._

_Love,  
>Bree.<em>

I opened the envelope and inside lay a picture of two girls in swimsuits. They looked to be about sixteen, and the picture was so cheaply done it looked as if it had been photocopied. The caption read: _Crissy, Maggie and Bree, Velvet Strand North, Portmarnock 2009_.

My stupid cousin had sent me a picture of her two friends in bikinis on a beach in Ireland.

And she told me to masturbate to it.

My face must have said it all, because my mother asked very quietly, "What is it?"

I quickly shoved the picture back into the envelope and shook my head. "Nothing," I responded, "Just a stupid joke Riley's playing on me. Next?"

"This one is from your father and me."

"Mostly your mother," he piped up.

I was quickly losing patience, quickly contemplating techniques that would calm me down. Because I was going to stand up and punch him the next time he said something. I had enough bottled energy to knock over a freight train and with the way he was going, he was soon going to be my target.

I pulled apart the wrapping carefully, and pulled the top off the rectangular box. Inside was a brown leather notebook with my name, Edward Anthony Masen, engraved on the front. It was very plain looking, nothing fancy or decorative, but there was something about it that had me holding my breath as I pulled it from the box.

"Open it," she said quietly, and as I pulled back the front cover, the inside page clouded before my eyes.

She must have misinterpreted my silence, because she started to ramble nervously. "You may not remember what that's from. You were five, maybe six... no, you were definitely five. You had just started taking piano lessons, and your first recital was for Mother's Day. Your teacher had you all write a piece for… for your mothers and you were to perform it that day. Well, I… I couldn't…"

"You couldn't be there," I finished. Of course I remembered. It was one of the first times when I started realizing that I was not the top priority on my mommy's list of things to do. It had hurt so badly when she missed that recital; I'd spent months on that piece, even though it was something so rudimentary and simple, and when she missed my performance I cried for days.

Esme shook her head sadly. "Well I… I went to your teacher afterward. He had you all turn in a copy of what you wrote. And I asked him for it. He was reluctant—I could tell he didn't like me much—but he finally gave it to me and I had it published."

It was sitting there, staring at me. The first piece I'd ever written, titled For Esme Masen—I was a pretentious little bastard even back then—printed neatly on the first page of the book. I flipped through the pages of staff paper, feeling emotion well up in me at such a force that I wasn't sure I would be able to hold it back.

"Mom… I… thank you…"

She smiled, the first genuine smile I'd seen since I came back, full of love and sincerity and kindness. I wanted to get up and hug her, for the first time in a long time, but held back. Instead I stood from the chair and made my way to the doorway. "I have presents for you and Ed… Dad as well. They're in my bag, I'll go get them."

I smiled to myself, feeling some sort of hope and happiness as I climbed the staircase and hurried to my room. I felt a true sense of excitement for the first time in what felt like years and as I rummaged through my suitcase, I thought to myself that maybe, just maybe, we could be a normal family afterall and everything would work out in the end.

With a teal Tiffany box in each hand I hurried down the staircase and back toward the family room, a smile still on my face. I couldn't wait to see the look on her face when she opened—

"I can't fucking believe you spent eighty thousand dollars on some scraps of leather, Esme. What was going through your goddamn thick skull?"

"You should go back to not caring what I spend on things. I liked you better then."

"Yeah, well I liked you better when you weren't such a frigid bitch and actually put out a little. Guess we can't get everything we want, huh?"

"Our son deserves a nice Christmas present, Edward."

"What was wrong with a damn iPad, or a new computer? Or fuck, even a new car. An eighty-thousand dollar notebook—"

"You can't put a price on sentimentality, Edward."

"Oh that's original, what book did you steal that from? Do me a favor and cut the philosophical bullshit. Just because you have a little piece of paper with your name on it doesn't mean you're fucking Aristotle. You and Edward are both alike that way… too fucking stupid to make sense out of anything."

"And you're so fucking smart?" she hissed. "What were you going to do with the money, huh? Spend it on a weekend of cocaine and prostitutes in Colombia again? Go gamble it away in a Monte Carlo binge? Oh oh, I know. You'll take that slut of a girlfriend out to Aspen for the week, call it a business trip and then tell me that two hundred thousand dollars is missing from the bank because a few of your checks weren't cashed on time."

Glass shattered and fell to the floor and I had to bite down on my teeth to keep my calm. I peered around the doorway to see a broken vase lying scattered on the floor a few inches from where Edward's head was.

He merely looked at her with a cocked eyebrow. "Are you finished?"

She looked like she was ready to spit fire. Her face was red, her hair loosened from its tight bun and framing her face wildly. But her eyes… they were so full of fire and pure, unadulterated hatred that all air left my body. This wasn't my mother; my mother was icy and cold. Always cool and collected. Never had I seen her this wild and furious… never in my life.

Just like that my bubble had burst. Quietly, I laid my father's box containing the sterling silver cufflinks and my mother's box containing the emerald encrusted tennis bracelet on an end table in the hallway. I ran to the garage and grabbed the keys to the Aston Martin. I started the car without thinking of the repercussions. I threw the car in reverse without hesitation. I pulled out onto the road and sped away without a clue as to where I was going.

* * *

><p>There was one pub in the whole of Forks… not a hole in the wall bar, there were plenty of those. I'm talking about a pub. One that was paneled wall to floor in dark wood, lit dimly, covered wall to wall with shamrocks and Guiness posters and had the word 'Murphy' in the name. And, thank fuck, it was open. Why it was p[en on Christmas day was beyond me, but fuck it if I cared at all. I parked the car wherever I saw fit and walked in.<p>

Flogging Molly was playing softly from the speakers—loud enough to be heard by soft enough so as not to cause overstimulation. Signs were lit casting a neon glow against the bar top and empty wooden tables. A youngish-looking man I'd seen around town, Mack something or other, stood behind the bar with a clipboard in hand, taking inventory of the liquor that was on display. When the bell dinged to symbol my arrival he looked up, nodding in my direction.

"How's it goin?"

I sat down at the bar, rapping my knuckled against the wood.

"Good, you got any vintage Jameson on you?"

He turned and quirked an eyebrow before nodding appreciatively. "You know your stuff, I'm impressed. I may have a bottle or so in my office." He turned to go, but hesitated. "It's gonna cost you."

I waved him off. "I'm in here at noon on Christmas day. I really don't care about it costing me."

"Fair enough. I'll be right back."

He disappeared around the corner, only to come back a few seconds later with a green bottle. Grabbing a tumbler from under the counter, he poured a generous amount and slid it forward. "Listen man, I don't want any trouble from the cops. You at least got a fake ID or something on you?"

I looked at him dubiously. "It's Forks, Mack. They all know who I am"

He sighed and looked like he was about to say something.

"No one's going to bother you."

He nodded before turning back to liquor cabinet. I stared down at the amber liquid, swirling it around my glass before raising it and taking a sip. I held back a grimace as it burned down my throat and put it back down on the table with a thud.

"So what're you doing here on Christmas?" he asked, not turning around to look at me.

I really wasn't in the mood to get into the whole girly bitch-about-my-sad-life-with-the-bartender business, so I merely said, "Family stuff."

"Ah," he responded. His tone implied that he knew exactly what I was talking about.

"Why are you _open _on Christmas?"

He turned around and placed his clipboard down by the register. Pulling a tray of glasses out from under the bar, he sat them on the counter and began to methodically clean each one with a rag.

"Gretchen died five years ago. Rest of my family is back in Wexford. I really don't have anyone else, so I figured maybe if I opened up someone would come in here at some point and then I'd have someone to spend Christmas with."

"Well I'm happy to oblige," I murmured, tipping my glass in his direction before tipping whiskey into my mouth. "I mean, it's not like I really have Christmas to spend with anyone either."

We fell into a comfortable silence, me sipping the whiskey while he cleaned the glasses. It seemed methodical and soothing to the both of us and we didn't bother to speak until I had finished my glass.

"You want another?"

I nodded. "Please." I watched as he began to fill the glass. "So you're from Ireland?" I asked.

He nodded. "Born and raised in Wexford 'til I was about nineteen. Came here to go to NYU." He chuckled. "Wanted to be a writer. That's where I met Gretchen." He gestured to a picture behind him, hanging on the wall directly behind the register. She was an extremely attractive woman, young and blond and happy and beautiful. "Took her back to meet the family, graduated, got married at twenty-two. She got diagnosed with leukemia three months after our wedding, died one year later."

"Shit, man."

He smiled. "That year was the best of my life. I wouldn't take it back for anything. That's why I built this bar. It was something she always wanted, for us to work together in our own bar when we were old and gray. So I named it after her and it's where I spend most of my time. So I can be close to her." He sighed and rolled his shoulders. "God, listen to me. I'm the fucking bartender, I'm supposed to _listen_ to sob stories not tell 'em. It's in my goddamn job description."

He made a move to fill my glass again but I shook my head. Instead I pulled out my wallet and tossed three hundreds on the counter. He looked at it skeptically, almost as if he was afraid to touch it.

"Buy her some nice flowers," I said. I stood up from the table. "I'm gonna head home. Thanks for the drink, man."

He waved and pocketed the money. I could have sworn that I saw tears in his eyes but I said nothing as I exited the pub and climbed into my car.

I drove around for a few more hours, making it all the way out to La Push beach just before sunset. I didn't get out of my car, just sat parked on a hill and watched as the sun sank behind the water. I knew I should go home at some point. I just couldn't force myself to turn the car on.

I rolled myself a joint as a sort of celebratory gesture for getting through the day and smoked enough to make my whole face numb before fishing under the seat. Dad had liquor stored in every single one of his cars. I just had to find it. My fingers grasped the neck of a bottle and I pulled it out with a whoop. Bailey's.

Giddy. I was fucking giddy.

I drank nearly half the bottle in loud gulps before finally mustering the balls to drive back home. For being high and drunk off my ass I had spectacular control of the car, gripping the wheel tightly between my fists and driving nearly twice the speed limit. I arrived home in nearly half the time it should have taken me.

I entered the house in a daze. The alcohol and weed were really starting to take effect and as I stumbled in through the garage door I felt as if I could pass out right in the doorway.

_Spectacular end to the day. That particular act seems to go over really well with the mother._

And speaking of said mother…

"Edward where have you been? Your father and I have been worried sick! We thought—"

I didn't get the chance to answer. I was thrown back into the wall as white hot pain exploded through my cheek, blinding me. My head knocked into the wall, hard, and I began to lose feelings in my legs and arms. My body slumped lifelessly to the ground. My head felt detached from the rest of my body and it seemed to float there for a moment, hovering before I gave in to the throbbing in my head and surrendered to darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

Well… not much I can say, really. Like, dislike? Review?

**MOVIE REC:**

*Lie With Me* starring Lauren Lee Smith and Eric Balfour.. beautiful movie, really. Lots of graphic sex so again, not a movie to watch with your mother. Follows the story line of an aggressive, outgoing girl who is very in tune with her sexuality and her affair with an equally aggressive man. Despite all the raw sexuality, there is an intense level of emotional depth present as well as she discovers the difference between love and lust. You won't notice how powerful it is until the end, which makes it that much better. Watch it, you won't regret it.

Alright, let me know how it goes… either the story or the movie. I'm interested to hear about your reactions :)**  
><strong>


	4. Atypical Disciple

Thank you to all that reviewed last chapter! Your responses were great. To answer a few questions:

I don't quite have a posting schedule.. everything is a bit touch and go at this point, but I will be updating as much and as fast as possible.

Riley gave Edward a bong.. it's not very relevant to the story since Edward does a fuckton of drugs anyway.. but I forgot to mention it and some of you were curious.

**Chapter written to:**

_The Ballad of Mona Lisa—_Panic! at the Disco  
><em>Believe Me, I'm Lying—<em>Forever the Sickest Kids  
><em>The Motto<em>—Drake  
><em>Someday You Will Be Loved<em>—Death Cab for Cutie

I'm gonna keep sitting here with my Snickers and Fanta and I'll see you at the bottom. Enjoy :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four: Atypical Disciple<strong>

"_Fuck faith! You've got to earn it!"  
>-The Grey<em>

"Ow, fuck Mom. Stop it."

"Watch your mouth Edward Masen."

I merely rolled my eyes and reached my hands up to bat her fingers away. We'd been at the cat and mouse game for about twenty minutes now. She'd shaken me awake after I passed out and had had her fingers pressed in the open cut on my forehead for about fifteen minutes, claiming she was 'trying to fix it.' Yeah, okay. Whatever. I knew as well as anyone that it was an excuse to inflict even more pain on me.

I winced as she pulled back and grabbed another cotton swab. Saturating it with antiseptic, she stuck it back to my forehead.

"Motherfuck!" I shouted as stinging pain shot through my head.

"Edward stop being dramatic," she snapped, scraping along the cut like she was trying to take off a layer of skin. "You didn't want to go get stitches, but you don't want a scar either. You're going to have to deal with a little bit of pain if you want this to heal as cleanly as possible."

I sighed, sitting back on the toilet seat and closing my eyes. We'd been having this argument for a while and it was easier to give in to her than to keep fighting—for one, when I fought against her she only pressed harder, and two, sometimes her fingers would stray further up my forehead and into my hair and she'd lightly rub my scalp to help ease the headache I'd developed when I'd woken up. Besides the fact that it felt fucking phenomenal it was one of the few motherly things she did anymore, and I took what I could when the opportunity arose.

"Where'd Dad?"

She sighed, focusing on my forehead and not meeting my eyes. "I don't know, Edward."

"Story of my fucking life," I mumbled.

She sighed again. After a moment of tense silence, she said, "You shouldn't have taken his car."

"He shouldn't have acted like a prick," I retorted petulantly. I rolled my eyes as she reached into her First Aid kit and pulled out antibiotic cream. "Mom," I whined. "I'm a boy. Aren't I supposed to rub dirt in my injuries?"

"You're a Masen," she said coolly. "Normal rules don't apply."

_Again, story of my fucking life._

I huffed as she pressed a large bandage to my forehead and then stepped back to assess her handiwork.

"Do I suffice?" I asked. "Is the torture over with?"

She rolled her eyes. "I was a nurse for nearly ten years, Edward. I would hardly call it torture."

I stood up from the toilet. "Yeah, well you've been a mother for nearly twenty years and we're still working on that one."

She had the decency to wince.

I brushed past her out into the hallway, making my way toward my bedroom. My head was beginning to throb and I wanted to overdose on painkillers before passing out for the remainder of my stay at home. But as luck would have it, Esme decided to follow me all the way to my room and when I got there, she stood in the doorway and watched as I went through my bags to find the bottle of OxyContin I'd swiped while still at school. I popped the top, watching her tensely out of the corner of my eye as I tipped it up toward my lips.

I wasn't entirely surprised when the bottle disappeared from my hands. She slipped another pill bottle into my hand and when I looked down at it, I scoffed.

"Tylenol? Really?"

She rolled her eyes and went into the bathroom off the side of my room. I heard the sound of pills falling into the toilet, followed by flushing. I grimaced.

"You can't be fucking serious," I said under my breath.

"Yes I can," she responded, tossing the bottle in a trashcan and coming back into my room. "You didn't just have major surgery, Edward. You have a cut on your forehead. You don't need narcotics, you need a mild painkiller and some rest. Take a Tylenol, maybe two—"

"Or eight."

"—get some rest, and we'll see you downstairs for dinner in two hours."

"I'm not coming to dinner."

"Oh, don't give me that Edward," she said, grabbing a shirt up off the floor and neatly folding it. She placed it on the bed, smoothing it out and pulling on the corners of the fold until it was perfectly smooth with no wrinkles. She looked up at me, carefully tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "You're coming to dinner. It's Christmas. If there's one meal out of the whole year you should sit at, it's tonight's."

"If there's one day out of the whole year my father shouldn't punch me in the face, it's tonight." I grabbed the shirt and put it into the shirt drawer of the bureau, patting it down and running my hands down the edge of the stack to ensure that it was evenly aligned. I turned around. "And for the record, I'm still completely shitfaced from an afternoon at a bar. A place I shouldn't be on this _one day out of the whole year. _Don't you think it's a bit irresponsible of you, as a nurse and a mother, to give me acetaminophen after I've been drinking all day?"

She cocked the bitch brow at me, something she had mastered after twenty years. "It's a bit more responsible than allowing you to take oxy's and after a day of drinking, huh?"

I sniffed, crossing my arms over my chest. I chose not to respond.

"Edward, I know you don't really believe it, but he loves you."

I scoffed. "Right. A busted face says it all, right?"

Her eyes softened at that. I didn't really want to hear what she had to say.

"I'm tired. I'm gonna lie down."

She nodded, laying two Tylenol on my bedside table. "Come to dinner. We're having goose with apple and potato stuffing. And Siobhan has been working on the plum pudding for two weeks."

She said nothing else as she left, turning out the lights and closing the door softly between me. I popped the Tylenol, swallowing them without water, hoping that they would ease the burn in my forehead and the ache behind my eyes. I lay my face into the pillow, cursing my mother. She had the chef prepare a traditional Irish Christmas dinner—something she knew I had a hard time resisting. Reminders of our old home were few and far between now, since I was gone at school most of the time and Edward hated reminders of his time there.

He was traditionally from New York, and on summer vacation from Harvard had gone to Broadway to see a rendition of _The Phantom of the Opera_ in which my mother played Meg Giry. She'd come from Ireland to study drama at Juilliard on a full scholarship—her parents were poor and would not have been able to afford it otherwise—and had gotten the part shortly after graduation. I knew little of their romantic history, but apparently he sought her out backstage after the show and the rest is history. Somehow, she convinced him to return to Ireland with her, where I was conceived and they decided to stay for ten years.

And then, abruptly, we left.

I wasn't sure if I fell asleep, or if I just lay there blankly for a really long time, but it seemed like two minutes later when there was a soft knock on my door. A woman I didn't recognize stuck her head through the door, and said softly in broken a Asian accent, "Excuse me, Mr. Edward. Your mother sent me to wake you. It's time for your dinner."

"Tell her I'm not coming," I said, rolling over.

I was expecting to hear the door click closed and the light from the hallway to go away, but this didn't happen. I was about to roll back over and snap the bitch's head off when she said softly, "Please don't make me say that, sir. She and Mr. Cullen had a really bad fight, one we could hear even in the kitchen. Both of them are in really, really angry moods. I… I'm frightened of your father, sir. Please, come to dinner."

I stood and walked over to her, looking down at her thoughtfully. She didn't look to be older than eighteen. "How old are you?" I asked.

"Seventeen, Mr. Edward," she said. She looked uncomfortable at my closeness and stepped back slightly. "Please, don't make them angry at me. Mrs. Cullen say that if you don't come to dinner that she will fire me. And I really need this job, Mr. Edward sir. I need this job very much."

"Why?" I asked her.

"Mrs. Cullen say that as long as I work for her, my family won't be deported back to North Korea. She say my sister and I will get a good education and she will find my parents work in the city. But if I don't do as she say—"

I held up a hand to silence her. She didn't need to finish. I already knew what my mother would do if this girl didn't follow her rules and do as she said. Sighing, I nodded to her. "Alright, I'll come down. Give me a minute?"

She smiled broadly, bowing slightly. "Thank you, Mr. Edward sir. Thank you so much."

I held up a hang again. "Just call me Edward." Not that it matters, since we both know you won't be here the next time I come home. "Tell Mrs. Cullen that I will be down in a moment, I just need to change my clothes and freshen up."

She bowed again and I had to try very hard not to roll my eyes at her. Closing the door, I crossed the room to my dresser and pulled open the drawer, grabbed a t-shirt and jeans and quickly changed. I went into the bathroom and splashed water on my face. My face was pale, my eyes bloodshot and glazed over. I looked more high than hungover. The large white bandage on my forehead did nothing for my appearance, causing my left eye to swell shut just a little. I sighed and shook my head, steeling myself for the family dinner awaiting me downstairs.

I cursed my mother on my way down the stairs. She was smart and manipulative and I didn't like it. She knew that by sending up her maid with a sob story it would make me come down to dinner. She was taking advantage of my weaker, softer side and that pissed me off. As I descended the stairs lower, my anger grew more and more. The only consolation I had was a soft, sexy voice in the back of my head saying _"I just don't think you're typical."_

_You're not typical. You're not typical. You're not typical._

_You're special. Goddammit, you pussy. Suck it up._

I entered the dining room/ torture chamber with a straight face, not acknowledging either parent. I sat down in my usual seat, three chairs to my left and three chairs to my right, separating myself from both my mother and my father. I had no desire to be near either of them, but if I moved further away from my father that would place me closer to my mother, and I did NOT fucking want that. But if I moved farther away from my mother, I would be closer to my father. And obviously I didn't want that either.

I looked at the wall. As I always did. At every meal.

Mother prattled on about the décor.

My father read his newspaper.

On the inside, I screamed.

* * *

><p>I didn't speak to my father for my remaining time in Forks. I barely spoke to my mother. I spent most of my time wrapped in a drunken stupor, intermingled with drugs and mindless fucking with girls from the community college in Port Angeles. I saw Jasper twice more, each time experimenting with some new drug cocktail he'd read about in his isolation—he'd gotten arrested for some drug-induced brawl in Seattle, landing him under house arrest and forcing his mother and step-father number seven to come home from their honeymoon early.<p>

Basically, they were pissed.

Leaving for SeaTac was awkward, plain and simple. My father didn't emerge from his office to say good-bye—not that I was surprised and nor did I care—but my mother was overly grabby and emotional. That was something I was not used to. I was expecting my bags to be loaded into the car and that I would leave without a word, but she met me at the door with a weepy look in her eyes that confused the hell out of me.

I had to shrug her off of me in order to get into the car. She held the door open as I sat in the seat and continued to hold the door open, even as I tried to pull it closed. She looked like she was going to say something overly mushy and sentimental, but the look I gave her must have made her feel like a pariah, for her eyes closed and her face crumpled. She let go of the door and I pulled it closed with overly-excessive force. As I ordered the driver to drive off, I turned around and saw my mother's shrinking form standing in the driveway. Her head was in her hands and her shoulders looked like they were shaking.

She was… crying.

"Dude, can you go a bit faster?"

The driver looked at me in the mirror. "Sir, I'm already going fifteen over the speed limit."

I bit my thumbnail and glanced out the window before looking back at him. "Go twenty-five then."

The flight back was uneventful, for which I was glad. The person with the seat next to me never showed and I was allowed the entire flight in peace. Jenks was waiting for me when I arrived at the airport, and thirty minutes, three scones and a venti caramel macchiato later we were driving back to my apartment. The closer we got the more I was able to relax and breathe, and by the time Jenks slid up to the front door I had nearly gotten rid of all the angst and tension I had been holding in my chest.

I strode through the front doors, nodding at the doorman as he held them open for me. I saluted to the man behind the front desk and grabbed my bags from Jenks as I entered the elevator. I nodded at him, telling him to enjoy his night, and pressed the button for the penthouse apartment that I shared with Emmett.

And Rose.

The elevator doors slid open and I let myself into the apartment, surprised that it was completely silent. Emmett was a fan of loud, thumping rap music that was fairly tolerable when I was completely hammered. It was tolerable when I wasn't drunk if it was covering up their sex fests, which occurred frequently. I was pleasantly surprised to find that this was not occurring at that moment.

I kicked the door shut loudly, waiting for someone to come out and greet me. Nothing happened. Dropping my bags by the door, I made my way through the living room and back toward the bedrooms. I could hear the sounds of crowds cheering, and when I pushed open the door I found Emmett sitting on the floor with his back pressed up against the foot of his bed. He had in one hand a controller for the Xbox and in the other a tightly rolled blunt.

"Dude, it smells rank in here."

He looked up in greeting and nodded at me. "I know," he responded.

"I said rank, not dank."

He shrugged. "I don't give a fuck, man. Weed is weed."

His response caught me off guard. "Did something happen while I was gone?"

He shrugged again. "Rose dumped me."

I felt my eyebrows rise. "No shit, man. Really?"

He nodded.

"Do you wanna… I don't know. Talk about it or something?"

He shrugged yet again. I had never seen him this way, so sullen and melancholy. When he failed his humanities midterm, he just laughed it off. When he lost to Yale last year for the District championships he merely shrugged and said it was an excuse to get three times as drunk that night and that there was always next year.

I stood there awkwardly, unsure how to react to him. "Well… why?"

He inhaled deeply on the joint. "She said something about needing to get serious now. That being together was good while it lasted and she would always remember me and all that bullshit, but she had to buckle down on her pre-law degree and shit. That she was sick of the partying and drinking and smoking and that she wanted to start thinking about her future."

"Fuck, dude."

"Yeah man, tell me about it." He paused his game and passed the joint to me. I inhaled deeply. "I mean," he continued, taking it back from me, "I can be serious when I need to be. It's just… we're in college. We're supposed to go out and have fun sometimes. And that's what I was doing. I mean, yeah I can get a bit carried away, but I can be straight when I need to. You remember when I had that paper due at nine in the morning and I still hadn't started it at five?"

Oh, I remembered. It had been his and Rose's anniversary and they'd been up all night long.

"Yeah, well I let her sleep so I could go work on it. And fuck it if I didn't get it done and get a B on it. So I don't know what the fuck she's talking about when she says I'm not serious."

"Well, I mean, maybe there's something else. Did your dick get soft while you were fucking or something?"

He looked at me like I'd grown balls on my chin.

"No, you twat. I'm hung like a fucking horse and hard like a goddamn cement pole. My cock is not the problem."

It was silent for a moment.

"Maybe she's into chicks," he said after a moment. "Though I don't know why that's a problem. It's hot."

"Maybe that's what she means about serious, Emmett."

"Huh?"

"Maybe it's not that you can't be serious. Maybe it's just that you don't take things seriously."

"What the fuck is the difference?"

I shook my head. "Hell if I know, bro. I don't pretend to understand chicks."

"Whatever, man. Fuck her. I can get pussy whenever I want to. Shit doesn't faze me."

But I knew it did. He got a faraway look in his eyes that said the exact opposite. He was hurting bad and had no clue how to cope with it. I couldn't say that I did either, so the best thing to do for him was to leave him alone, let him smoke his shitty weed and hopefully he'd either bounce back in a couple of days or would convince Rose to get back with him and would go back to being his jovial self.

I stood from the floor and made my way toward the door. On a second thought, I turned back to him.

"Did you two fuck on my bed?"

He had gone back to playing his game but at my question he looked up. He grinned. "Oh, you know it bro."

My jaw clenched and without another word I walked toward my room. He followed me, calling out to me as I stormed across the apartment.

"Dude, Rose changed the sheets for you. Chill out."

I turned. "What did she do with my old ones?"

"Donated them to that stupid charity place you're so fond of."

_For real?_

"Huh." I pushed open the door of my room. "What did she replace my sheets with?"

"I don't know bro, she said something about Egyptian cotton. My knowledge stops there."

I ran my hand over the sheets, testing them out. "She did a good job. Shame you let her go, man."

"It's not like I actually had a choice," he said.

"You mean you didn't fight for her? Don't chicks dig it when you do that?"

He shrugged. "She threw her glass at my head. I don't think she wanted me to fight for her."

"Yikes."

He nodded. "I'll try to talk to her again in a few days. Right now, I'm a little afraid for my balls so I'm going to give her some space."

"Anything else happen while I was gone?"

"Other than the fact that I thought I was going to get a foursome with three really hot chicks before one of them broke up with me, no, not really."

I laughed at him. "How were you going to swing that?"

"Well Rose took a philosophy class with these two really girls that she got along with and kinda liked. They both decided to stay here because they couldn't afford the flight home or didn't want to go home or something like that, so she invited them to come stay here—"

"Rosalie invited people to come stay at _my _apartment? While I wasn't even _here?_"

"My apartment too, douche. I pay half the rent."

I rolled my eyes. He only paid half the rent when he felt like it. I let him continue.

"Anyway, these girls didn't wanna go home so she let them stay here for a few weeks. I didn't know this of course until I returned from Cali to find all three of them cuddled up on the floor in their pajamas watching some rom com on the TV."

My eyebrows rose. "Pajamas?"

"Fucking sleep pants and t-shirts, dude. I was so fucking bummed."

I chuckled.

"Anyway, they were pretty hot broads. I thought I was gonna get them all to come sleep in my bed, but Rose got all she-wolf on me and dragged me to my room the second I walked in the door. When I got up the next morning the girls were gone, as was their stuff. The dorms opened back up and I haven't seen them since."

"Did you get their names? Maybe now that you and Rose have called it quits you can hook up with one of them?"

"Yeah, I think one was named Alicia… or Alice I think. And the other one was Bella. She was a sweetheart, I really liked her."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "I'da totally boned her if Rose and I weren't together. She just seemed so chill, you know? Complete opposite of Tasmanian she-devil that the other girl was. I mean, dude the girl was fucking perfect. She offered to put on a football game and she'd put the movie on her computer."

"Where'd they sleep?" I asked.

"They both slept in your bed."

"Together?"

He nodded, his eyebrows waggling. "Sucks we changed your sheets, huh?"

"You're crude."

He threw back his head and laughed. "They were cool, though. Didn't make any noise, perfectly nice… just cool girls."

"Guess I'll have to meet them one day."

"That'd be cool if Rose wasn't being a total bitch and would just admit that she still loves me and wants my Johnson."

"And on that note…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Listen man, couple guys from the team and I are going out to a bar tomorrow night to grab some drinks and play darts. Sort of a little reunion/ shit-talking before the bowl games kinda thing. You in?"

I hated those nights; the testosterone, alcohol and sports filled nights that often left me alone to my thoughts while they all talked about things that I either didn't care about or didn't find interesting at all. But I found myself agreeing against my better judgment, nodding to him as I pulled the blankets back on my bed. "Yeah, alright. Sure."

"Sweet," he responded, and with that he nodded at me and returned to his room.

I stripped quickly and climbed into bed, happy to be back in my _real _room; the room that I was comfortable in with its mossy green walls, shelves full of books, knick-knacks, movie posters and clutter-free desk. As I burrowed down into the covers, the soft scent of flowers and something summery met my nose, and as I slowly drifted out of consciousness, I began to notice things that were out of the ordinary.

The small replica of the Cathedral of Volterra Duomo that I'd purchased when we visited the historic, small town in the Tuscany region of Italy had been rotated and moved slightly to the left, as if someone had picked it up, looked at it, and then put it back down.

One of my high school baseball trophies had been moved as well.

When I glanced down at the floor, my battered copy of _Wuthering Heights _lay open on the carpet. Through a sleepy hazy I leaned down and picked it up, turning it over to its open pages. When I read the page, I was slightly stunned to land on one of my favorite quotations.

_If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger. _

Troubled, I closed the book and placed it back on the floor, rolling over and burying my face in my pillow. This time, I smelled something fruity… strawberries maybe.

I wouldn't find the note that had fallen from the book until the following morning.

* * *

><p><em>Edward— <em>the note read,

_I realize this note will probably fall on confused eyes, but I'd just like to thank you for letting Alice and I stay in your room. Again, I realize this was probably not your decision and is probably something you didn't know about until now, and you probably have no clue who I am, but I couldn't leave without at least informing you that we were here. Hopefully, we didn't leave too much a mess._

_In gratitude,_

_Bella Swan._

I rolled my eyes and tossed the note on my desk. As if I fucking cared. I'd put the book back on the desk the following morning and straightened out my trophy and statue. As she'd said, I had no clue who she was. Therefore, I didn't really care what she'd done. She didn't leave her dirty underwear anywhere—that I'd seen—so I wasn't entirely bothered.

I had unpacked my suitcase, gone to the gym and caught up on some reading. We were studying Kafka's _The Metamorphosis_ and I wanted to get a head start so no one would have the chance to show me up. The problem now was that it was only two in the afternoon and I had no clue what to do with myself. It was too early to go out drinking and there was no way in hell that I was smoking Emmett's weed. Tanya had texted me to inform me that she was back and we should get together for lunch, but she and I both knew that lunch entailed an eight-ball of cocaine and fucking eight ways to Sunday.

I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to go that route since my father had fucked her mother and his advice about Tanya liking it from behind was unfortunately accurate.

Pulling on my coat I decided to take a walk. Where I was going, I had no clue. I just knew that I couldn't sit around the apartment with Mopey Dopey and his melancholic ass any longer or I was going to go crazy and shoot myself.

I let my feet take me where they wanted and I found myself quickly approaching Cambridge Common, a quaint park in between Cambridge and Garden Street. It was eerily empty for two o'clock in the somewhat decent afternoon on a Sunday. Normally I saw runners jogging along the sidewalk and children playing in the snow and old couples walking their dogs. Today, however, the place was completely empty, with the exception of a girl sitting on the grass a few yards ahead on my left.

She had long brown hair that blew around her face in the wind and some of the palest skin I had ever seen—not that I could see much of it, but her fingers looked white against the book she was reading. She was wrapped in a black leather coat and a navy blue blanket, cuddled up and huddled against the wind.

I didn't catch much of her face, but she looked attractive from where I was walking… I mean, she wasn't _ugly _or anything. Her nose was proportionate to the rest of her head and she didn't have a five head or anything. I couldn't see the color of her eyes, but they looked dark despite being covered by her lashes.

_Listen to me, I sound like I total freak, _I thought to myself. _Like I'm one of those fucking makeover shows or something._

I put my head down toward my feet and didn't look up again, even as I passed her. I sensed her looking at me, watching me as I walked by, but I made no move to acknowledge her presence. It was a prick thing to do; I probably could have said hello, asked her what book she was reading and been in her panties within an hour. Maybe without even moving from that spot.

Why wouldn't I do it?

_You're not typical._

No.

Because I was being _exactly _typical.

Because I didn't want to talk to her or get to know her. I didn't even want to ask her name. If I wasn't going to get to fuck her, I simply did not care.

* * *

><p>Classes started back up. I got back into the groove of things. I went to the finance class that my father had forced me to sign up for from ten to one on Mondays. I went to a class that had to do with economic bullshit that I really didn't care about; stock analysis or some shit like that, on Wednesdays. I sat through other bullshit on Thursdays.<p>

The only class I seemed to enjoy in the slightest was my World Lit class. When I read over the syllabus and got a sample of the eclectic selection of works we would be covering—like _The Metamorphosis _by Kafka, _Macbeth _by Shakespeare, and _The Grape of Wrath _by Steinbeck—I'd decided that my father could go to hell because I was taking the damn class.

The first few classes were boring. Not everyone had read the books before class, so hardly anyone knew what the professor was talking about when he opened the floor for discussion on an interpretation of Gregor Samsa's metamorphosis and comments on the strong undertone of communism throughout the novella—even I struggled a bit with that one. Those of us that had read it bantered back and forth on the obvious themes of isolation and abandonment, ostracism and alienation and the fickle nature of the human race. But the professor—Professor Varner—quickly grew bored with all of us, then got angry that we weren't seeing the deeper meaning, and stormed off through the back exit into his office leaving his poor TA to finish up the class discussion.

We'd moved on to a discussion of Grete's character and her development in the final chapter of the novella—something I'd been dreading, because it seemed like I'd signed up for this class along with every feminist dyke on campus. The story had literally nothing to do with sex or femininity at all, and yet at every single lecture one of them was bringing it up. Angela, who had signed up for the class with me, chuckled and rolled her eyes at me, doodling offensive notes in the margins of the notebook that I always brought along with my laptop.

Sometimes I preferred to write things down. Sue me for being old-fashioned.

We were in the middle of discussing the significance of Grete's standing up and stretching in the very last sentence of the novella. My eyes were drooping out of sheer boredom and Angela was stealthily texting Ben, using the back of the student in front of her as cover. Some tree-hugging hippy chick had raised her hand and was talking about the sheer sexual nature of the stretch, how "raising her hands above her head in such a nature"—which I would like to point out that the book said nothing about her raising her hands above her head, but if I said that she would have chopped my balls off with the spikes sticking out of her ears—"thrust her breasts out," clearly demonstrating the embracing of her sexuality and "coming into her femininity."

I snorted at the note Angela had written in my notebook. "_Sounds more like she's writing some erotic porn novel."_

Still chuckling, I had my pen poised above the page, ready to write, when I was interrupted by a soft voice behind me.

"Actually," it said. I froze, my fingers locking in shock while the pen fell from my hands. Angela looked over at me in question, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the head in front of me. I was frozen solid in shock, my blood running cold in my veins.

"I don't think that's what it means at all."

* * *

><p>Alright, there you have it. Definitely more next chapter. Comments? Questions?<p>

The **MOVIE REC **this go around is _The Grey_, starring Liam Neeson. Just came out recently, and if it's playing in a theatre near you I recommend that you go see it immediately. If it's not playing near you, go online and watch it when it comes out, or rent it… just get your hands on it somehow. I don't want to reveal too much about it, but it's an awesome story about a man's survival in arctic Alaska after a plane crash leaves him and a few survivors stranded with little means to make it back to civilization. I can't recommend it highly enough.. it's full or terrific acting, inappropriate humor and lots of powerful lines that had a strong emotional impact.

If you wanna talk about the story, or even about the movie, leave a review and let me know what you think!


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